Resistance
by Gentleman Bystander
Summary: Chapter 14 Up! It is the dawn of 3062 and the Great Refusal is over, however all is not calm on Huntress. Military forces array for a coming conflict that will put the entirety of clan space in conflict. Mature thematic elements
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:

If it doesn't appear in a source book or authorized publication, it's my intellectual property. Everything else belongs to Wizkids and/or Fanpro or contractual agents there-of. © 2001-2007 FanPro, LLC. © 2001-2007 WizKids, Inc.  
MechWarrior, BattleMech, 'Mech and AeroTech are registered trademarks of WizKids, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

All refrences to the Clans, Star League, as Well as specific Historical characters is done under the provision that the author will not profit from their use.

The author has not received fiscal (either monetary or in the form of services) compensation for the creation and publication of this piece. Attempts to solicit the author for rights to the text, characters, or ideas contained here-in will be considered as constituting a breach of the user agreement and will be immediately reported.

* * *

Setting Disclaimer:

Around 2002, I lost track of the development curve for Battletech and Mechwarrior. Only recently have I discovered the outcome of the Fed Sun civil war and the current story arc concerning Wobbie machinations against the universe in general. As it is, this story follows a somewhat independent story arc but remains true to the feeling and tradition of the establish cannon. I do hereby swear that I will not include super-mechs, aliens, psychics, wizards, dragons, Jedi, et cetera et cetera ad naseum lest I be smote by the Unholy spirit of Bryan Nystul. The story arc followed in this work is intended to act as a framework for GMs who want to run their own Battletech/Mechwarrior campaigns and I will be adding appendices with unit rosters, variant information, and character bios.

* * *

**!WARNING!**

The story contains contextual and thematic elements that may not be suitable to all audiences. This book is set in a science fiction universe but covers matters of human interactions and relationships that may not be acceptable to all readers. Language and graphic descriptions of violence are common and if this type of writing disturbs you or is unsuitable for viewing by you or your child(ren)/spouse(s)/dependent(s), please do not open this work. This work is replete with refrences and allusions to romantic relationship and human sexuality as part of the natural process of human socialization. Refrences to suicide, drug use, alcoholism, religion, and politics. If any of these subject matters are offensive or inappropriate to either yourself or your child(ren)/spouse(s)/dependent(s) please do not view my work as I will not be held responsible for posting material you may view as inappropriate after you elected to open and read it.

* * *

**Battletech: Resistance**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Camp Borte

Sudaten

Jade Falcon Occupation Zone

December 5, 3061

23:12 GST

The digital clock on the wall was supposed to be silent. There were no mechanical actions occurring, just simple electronics and electro-chemical reactions. Power was passed through a circuit and was sent to liquid crystals, which darkened or lightened in response to the electrical current. It was supposed to occur without the fanfare of noise to announce the task it had achieved. Nine out of ten people would not be able to identify a single sound. Horse, on the other hand, was part of the minority that was driven to the edge of mental breakdowns by the subtle buzz that the clock, along with just about any electrical device, emanated. He stared at the clock, daring it to get louder, as it most certainly would do once he started focusing on some task that required his undivided attention. Part of him considered blowing it off the wall, smashing it with a chair, throwing it out of the window. It would be wasteful, unclanlike, but oh so satisfying. He shuffled some papers on his desk, looking through them for the thirtieth time to day, checking for anything critical he may have missed during the twenty-nine previous inspections.

He suddenly felt a twinge of sympathy for every commander he had ever been posted under. This sort of thing was maddening to say the very least. The list of considerations far exceeded the simple matters of "who do we fight and when?" Rather, he had issues of logistics, morale, organization, and a training regimen to consider. Current activities had made the Irregulars acting more as a training unit where Falcon would learn the finer points of fighting a war that was more than a series of ritualized duels or massive forward moving large unit actions. Still, the Irregulars stood ready to be the Khan's hammer or stiletto as the situation may dictate and there was no lack of enemies to the Jade Falcons that may require, in the near future, a lesson on the power of the Falcons. But in the present, they were the advanced training cadre that the clan military organization had so sorely lacked for so long. In the past months the Irregulars had become the touman's whetstone: their training would either sharpen units or smash them. But faux combat in the form of safe-fire exercises and mock trials was just not the same as feeling the actual buck of an autocannon, the howl of rocket motors and the buzz of lasers. Even the wash of heat coming up into the cockpit, the contest of wills with a damaged gyro, the neural feed-back of exploding ammunition would be welcome at this point.

He found himself gritting his teeth and he wasn't sure why. It had to be fury over inactivity. He missed battle, he wanted to storm ramparts and level buildings. He wanted to watch mechs fall under his fire and stand victoriously over isorla he had secured for the Jade Falcons. This extended period of doing nothing was driving him crazy.

"Star Colonel?"

A voice snapped him for his reverie. He looked up to see Star Captain Gisselle, his trueborn coergn standing just inside the door to his office. Shortly after the defeat of the Vipers on Wolcott, Marthe Pryde had promoted Horse to Star Colonel and expanded the Khan's Irregulars by another two trinaries. Further more, each trinary was expanded to a Nova putting the Irregulars Cluster as under strength slightly on paper but with a higher number of total personnel than most clusters.

Khan Pryde had given Horse a remarkable degree of latitude when it came to recruitment for the unit allowing him to pick from Coventry sibbies, Solhama veterans, and up and coming ristars. The result was that the unit had a mix of warriors that would have made Aidan Pryde proud. Gisselle herself was a Coverntry sibbie but this slightly dubious heritage had not affected her status as a ristar who would be competing for her bloodname in two months. She came from a Buhallin/Hazen sibko that had produced an unprecedented seven officers so far. Gisselle was the only one to have achieved the rank of Star Captain thus far and her codex indicated she fought with skill and valor during the Coventry campaign. She was a very attractive young woman: tall, athletic, with auburn hair and a deep tanned skin. Her uncharacteristically long hair framed a patrician face with deep green eyes and full pouting lips. She was also an excellent love maker, a fact Horse had discovered early during her tenure as his coergn.

"Is this a bad time, Star Colonel?"

"No, not at all Star Captain, please come in."

She entered the room and crossed it with a lithe grace that was probably as much flirtatious bravura as it was actual physical adeptness. She had, after all, been the one that had initiated the sexual component of her coergnship, despite the drastic liberalization of freeborn treatment in the clan over the past two years, it was still up to the trueborn to initiate sexual behavior.

"I hope I am not bothering you."

"Perish the thought, it is this inactivity that is bothering me."

"Even a warrior occasionally requires rest, quiaff?"

Horse grunted, "Aff, but this past month has been rough."

"There is only so much havoc we can cause in the training exercises."

The Khan's Irregulars, dubbed the 1st Falcon Cuirassiers, had been acting as an OpFor unit in recent training exercises through out the Occupation Zone. The goal was to help the clusters slated for attacks on Lyran territory and the ARDC to adapt to non-conventional tactics and better counter enemies not prone to fighting under Zellbrigen. In a few days Camp Borte was going to serve as the training academy for select Falcon units that may be required to fight an unconventional war against targets just outside their invasion corridor. Rozendo Hazen, who had garnered a great deal of prestige from the actions of the Falcon Guards and the Khan's Irregulars, which were still assigned to Gamma for "beans and bullets", had become an outspoken proponent of freeborn units and unconventional tactics despite his incredibly hard-line crusader stance and his penchant for strict traditionalism. Horse remembered a conversation once that had consisted of himself, Khan Pryde, saKhan Cleese, and Galaxy Commander Rozendo Hazen. Hazen, who apparently watched Inner Sphere entertainment programs with almost religious fervor, had stated that Khan's Irregulars was a poor choice for a name because it made him think of an advertisement for laxatives. Horse recalled the conversation, they had all become very familiar with one another since they ejected the Vipers, and this was just one of many informal meetings between the four.

"I do not know Ro, seems to me someone would have said something by now." SaKhan Cleese had uttered as she sipped her fusionaire.

"Irregulars…irregular, you all know what that means quiaff?"

"It means a unit of military or paramilitary organization that does not follow a standard TO&E, Rozendo." Marthe had replied.

"Well, it could also give the impression that the Jade Falcons are characterized by chronic constipation."

Marthe chuckled lightly and Samantha cackled. Horse had cracked a wide grin. They had all had more than one fusionaire that evening, and the best of them was feeling uninhibited. Horse had puffed out his chest and swaggered around the room heavily.

"I am Star Captain Phillips of Trinary Laxative, what units guard these bowels?"

Everyone let loose peels of laughter.

"Are you a Hellion now Horse?" Marthe chided between fits of whole-hearted chortling.

"Sounds more like a wolf to me." Samantha offered.

This had garnered more laughs.

"Well, either way, maybe if he had been a Viper, they could have moved us."

That last contribution had garnered the most laughter yet with Rozendo releasing a series of loud hoots that had prompted more laughter.

Horse eyed Gisselle, enjoying her aesthetic appeal for a moment. If anything was to believed about the historical significance of ancient Terran literature, she was the type of woman men had killed for. Part of him wondered if she would be inviting him to her quarters tonight. She was mildly affectionate as trueborns went, and used her excellent physical shape to its full advantage during coupling. Horse had convinced himself that once she had her bloodname and was no longer his coergn, the pleasures of coupling with her would be at an end. However, that was not why she was in the cluster, she was in the cluster because she was an excellent warrior and Horse reminded himself that the concerns of the clan were paramount.

"So, what is on your mind Star Captain?"

"I was going to ask you, Star Colonel, if Mechwarrior Barnard could be permitted liberty to travel with me to Ironhold for the upcoming bloodname competition in which I am participating."

Horse nodded sagely. Barnard was a short stocky freeborn in Gisselle's trinary. He was a mediocre pilot, but his marksmanship in his mech was second to none. His insights into the art of stand-off combat and precision firing had significantly upped the cluster's gunnery scores.

"Of course, providing he has agreed."

Gisselle smiled happily, "I have already asked him Star Colonel, and he has agreed to accompany my team."

"Very well, I will see that the paper-work is submitted. Was there anything else?"

Gisselle cocked her head to the side for a moment. She narrowed her eyes, pouting her lips ever so slightly and letting a few strands of hair fall in front of her face. Unbeknown to her, Horse had seen this exact behavior before in an Inner Sphere holovid that had been shown on Waldorff just after the Vipers had been expelled. It was meant to be seductive, a come-hither act. She had probably seen the behavior in the same holovid and was emulating it. Horse did not want to say it, but he had found the behavior ridiculous in the movie and even more so coming from a warrior.

"Will you be joining me in my quarters this evening?"

Horse decided to reply with something arrogant and freeborn sounding.

"I would not deny you the privilege of my company."

Gisselle played along with his joke and with an anachronistic flair in the best tradition of Aidan's and his old book stash rose. "See you there, big boy."

She left the office and closed the door gently behind her as she did.

Horse sat for a moment in the renewed silence of the office, his hands clasped behind his head. How things had changed. In his youth, Horse was rarely invited to couple and even more rarely extended the invitation himself. His honor and prestige in the clan had done much to increase his "sex appeal". He reflected on the concept and chuckled at how unwarrior and unclanlike it was.

"Where are you old friend, can you see me now?"

Part of him wished there was a heaven like that espoused by the ancient religions of Terra. Then, at least, Aidan could be looking down, watching him. The concept that his dear old friend was watching over him felt strangely comforting. At times like this, when he was alone with his thoughts, he would often find himself talking to Aidan, and in his mind he could almost hear him reply.

"Diana made Star Captain…between that and the blood name, there are those that expect she is going to take over the Falcon Guards some day."

_I know, I already saw that._

"Just making sure you're up to date."

_Just because I am dead does not mean I do not care about you using contractions._

"Oh come on, I heard you stumble over a couple of those, you came close to saying 'doesn't' and 'don't'."

_That may very well be, but I'm dead and I can speak any stravag way I choose._

"You let that one slip."

_Bah, stop scolding me Horse._

"Well, old friend…I have a young woman to see to. We will continue this conversation later."

_Have fun._

"I intend to."

_I was being facetious._

"I know."

_Freebirth _

"Trashborn."

Horse rose in the still pre-dawn grayness that washed over Camp Borte every morning between 0400 and 0600. In ways, a Sudaten morning reminded him of an Ironhold morning, he was not entirely sure if he liked or loathed that about the planet. Gisselle still slept serenely as he climbed out of the bed and put on his uniform. She lay on her stomach, the sheets draped over her in a haphazard manner revealing the scar that traced from her right shoulder down to just between her shoulder blades. Horse always wondered about the genesis of the scar but had never asked her. It might make for an interesting conversation during their pre-coupling foreplay. He committed the idea to memory: comparing scars. The concept seemed fitting to a clan warrior who did not shy in the face of danger and who did not fear damaging themselves in the name of their honor and that of their clan. Part of him wanted to touch her, but he decided that it might wake her and it was entirely to freeborn a behavior. Her tolerance of freeborns could be limited to serving with and, in his case, under one and her sexual liaisons…the affectionate displays and expressions of a codified relationship pair might be in poor taste to the young and ambitious trueborn. As quietly as possible he left her quarters, pulling the door shut behind him and taking a deep breath of the pre-dawn air. It was crisp, cold, humid, and clean. He closed his eyes, felt the cool mist on his face and forearms. A smile crept slowly onto his face as he reveled in the refreshing sensations of another Sudaten morning. He could not deny that Gisselle made him feel young, but mornings like this made him feel alive. He wanted to run, run forever, up the mountains and down the valleys: from one side of the planet to the other, and everywhere in between. He tilted his head back just ever so slightly and imagined for a moment that he was a _Summoner_, and imagined what it would be like to be such a machine running around in this predawn mist, free to do whatever it pleased.

"Stop being such a freebirth, Horse."

He didn't have to open his eyes or even turn to know who it was.

"Joanna, don't make me bring you up on charges."

"What's a little hate between old friends?"

Horse chuckled, a decidedly equine sound. He had pulled Joanna out of sib-nanny duty and reinstated her to active duty. She had fought a trial of position and had attained the rank of Star Captain, which had delighted her to no end but her reaction at the time had been that if there was any reason or justice in the Universe it would be her leading the cluster with Horse answering to her. Horse had just smiled and assigned her a week of KP duty.

"Joanna, you're using contractions." The smile on his face widened.

"Just trying to make you feel comfortable."

"I can give you more KP duty you know."

"A contraction using, arbitrary, freebirth commander with out-caste sleeping

habits, what have we come too?"

Horse stretched his thick arms working out some slight muscle stiffness.

"Yeah, it is a step in the right direction, quiaff?"

Joanna made a huffing sound that Horse knew was the closest thing she could approximate as a chuckle while still trying to sound indignant. Part of him swore he had heard her face crack as the smirk spread across it.

"You are up early this morning Star Captain, I thought old timers like you needed their sleep."

"I note you are similarly up early this morning, I was always under the impression that freebirths were lazy as well as surly."

They constantly poked at each other like this in private: a reminder of days long past. Joanna, as prejudiced a trueborn as there could be, respected Horse and knew he was a fine warrior and commander. Though she would never admit it before anyone else, she was also deeply indebted to him for giving her this one last chance to die honorably on the front lines. Marthe Pryde had been very apprehensive about pulling Joanna out of sib-parent duty and putting her back behind the controls of a battlemech, but Horse had insisted that if he were to get his unit up and running, Joanna could help him do it. Further more, she had "ransomed" her with a Trinary. She had not had a trinary under her command since the heady days when Aidan was still posing as Jorge. Her hair had grayed, her left leg only operated at 75 normal capacity thanks to her injuries on Waldorff, she had little aches and pains from a life that had, up to this point, been lived in a cavalier fashion, but she was back where she belonged and was happy, which in a way, made her feel a decade younger.

"Let's get some breakfast Joanna, the mess should be open and I could eat an ox."

"Bargained well and done Star Colonel."

"Trying to remember all the words Joanna? They said old age can cause the memory to fail."

"Horse?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"KP duty?"

"Hush."

Horse chuckled as they crossed the parade ground over to the mess hall. It was situated near the troop quarters. In addition to the nine officers in the unit, there were 36 other mechwarriors, 50 elementals, and 10 aerospace pilots. Camp Borte was not large by any stretch of the imagination as it only housed the personnel and support assets for his unit and facilities for units transferring in and out for the Irregulars' unique brand of advanced training. About a mile and a half from the camp was a town of some twelve thousand civilians. It was nice actually as it provided a form of recreation outside the camp.

Movies from the Inner Sphere, usually ridiculous escapist pieces, still made their way into spheroid towns like this one and could usually draw a fair number of warriors if only because of how utterly moronic and trite they were. The warriors enjoyed jeering and making jokes at the hero's expense, often to the detriment of the viewing atmosphere. Staunch traditionalist that he was, Galaxy Commander Rozendo Hazen actually enjoyed many of the films and whenever he was present, the warriors tended to behave themselves even though muffled snickers could often be heard in the darkness of the theater. The town also tended to have better food than could be provided at the Mess Hall and several of the local establishments came to be frequented by warriors for food and alcoholic beverages.

"I wonder what is on the menu this morning?" Joanna mumbled.

"Reconstituted eggs, two day old toast, meat substitute, and coffee cut with actuator fluid."

Joanna grimaced, "I suppose the days duties would preclude us going into town and getting real food?"

"Pretty much."

"Oh well, could not hurt to ask."

As they approached the mess hall they noticed Mechwarrior Barnard talking with two of the trueborn warriors from Joanna's trinary. He was making the large circuitous gestures used when simulating mech maneuvers in combat. Barnard, who consistently got perfect scores on gunnery tests, had become the de-facto "man in the know" on all matters of direct fire mech weaponry. They noticed Horse and Joanna approaching and snapped to attention.

"Star Colonel, Star Captain."

They all addressed Horse and Joanna in a jumble of acknowledgments.

"As you were, warriors." Horse said as he passed them and entered the mess.

Barnard went immediately back into his explanation of leading shots on an enemy attempting a flanking maneuver.

Several of the Cluster's techs were already sitting at one of the long fold-out tables consuming their meal when Horse and Joanna entered, they noticed the officers and started to stand up but Horse just barked an "As you were." And continued to the line to get his meal. A laborer who was doubtlessly a native of the town near Camp Borte stood behind the counter in which the large trays of food prepared in the kitchen were set.

"What do we have today?" Joanna asked.

"Rehydrated scrambled eggs, shit on a shingle, fruit, coffee, juice, milk."

"Shit on a…"

"He means creamed beef on toast, Joanna."

Joanna knitted her brows, "Is it any good?"

"I wouldn't eat it…but then again, my wife fixes my breakfast."

"See Horse, we should have his woman fixing our breakfast."

"Well Joanna, you find out if she wants the job. Until then, we have to eat."

"He said so himself, its food not fit for a freebirth."

The laborer, stood with an impassive expression as the exchange went on.

"If you want, officers, I can get someone to run into town and get some real eggs."

"Yes, do that, and get some of those delightful English Muffins from that Bakery near the old city hall." Ordered a voice from behind them.

Horse and Joanna turned to see Galaxy Commander Rozendo Hazen in line behind them.

The laborer, instantly recognizing the authority of the trueborn warrior, took off his apron and set it on the counter.

"Yes sir, right away sir."

"Galaxy Commander, a pleasure to see you here, sir." Horse declared, standing at attention.

Rozendo Hazen, who was a good deal younger than both Horse and Joanna had what Horse's books referred to as an "old soul." Though not quite 40, he had an authority that bespoke one many years older. It was clear that this was a man that could one day be Khan. While a traditionalist, he had come to respect freeborn warriors greatly and saw in them a way to bolster the Falcon touman and reassert their primacy. It wasn't that he was polite or kind to freeborns, but he did treat them with a dignity that he had not accorded them a few years prior. It was doubtlessly a political maneuver. Khan Marthe Pryde was a popular Khan both in the Jade Falcons and in the lower castes of many other clans. By adopting attitudes that had brought her great success since the disastrous refusal war, he made himself a top pick for the position of Khan or saKhan. Indeed, the general relationship between trues and frees had warmed in the clan ever since the ejection of the Vipers. Rozendo's political plays had come to a fore when he authorized all freeborns in Gamma Galaxy operating in the occupation zone to wear the same style of belt buckle as their trueborn counterparts. It had almost caused a furor that would have resulted in trials of grievance had not Khan Marthe gave the gesture credence and further dictated that among front line units, rank insignia would be identical among all warriors except for a T or F to designate whether the warrior was Trueborn of Freeborn. There was still always a mild degree of condescension on the part of Rozendo when dealing with freeborns, but it was nothing compared to the hate Horse had experienced early in his career.

"Come, let us have a seat." Rozendo strutted over to a nearby table and seated himself.

Horse followed and sat down across from the Galaxy Commander with Joanna taking a seat to Horse's right.

"We can dispense with formalities Horse, this is only a semi-official visit."

"What is on your mind Ro?" Horse queried as he rested his right arm on the table.

"Well, as you know, elements for Zeta Galaxy will be showing up in the next two days for the advanced Harassment and Interdiction, counter Harassment and Interdiction course."

"Aff."

"Give…them…hell."

Horse couldn't suppress a chuckle.

"Yesukai Shambag has been dogging the Khan and I for months now. She has been questioning the current policy of recruiting more freebir…frees, and has been tossing around accusations of chalcas and dezgra behavior."

Horse nodded sagely, he had heard of Galaxy Commander Shambag's prejudices long ago and secretly wished he could teach her a lesson on the value of freeborns.

Hazen continued, "She has many good warriors that are being squandered in her backwater assignment and I do not believe she can command adequately when all she does is complain about frees and insist that she should be on the front line."

"So, you want me to make a fool out of her vis-à-vis her units?"

Rozendo clapped his hands together and then extended them outwards, palms up,

"Exactly. I want warriors to request transfers out of her galaxy by the dozen. Then maybe there will be a challenge against her command and we can get a more competent commander in place there."

Horse cocked one eyebrow, "Why do I feel like this is a request coming from Marthe?"

Hazen tapped his nose, "She knows nothing about it." He over accented the word nothing. Clearly this was something he had discussed with Khan Pryde.

Horse smirked, "But of course."

"Word is that we are fast tracking a lot of free and trueborn sibkos and we are not letting the frees be cannon fodder any more in training exercises. My goal is to get a second Cuirassier unit put together and send the Jade Solhama to join the Gyrfalcon Solhama in Sigma, that will leave an opening for the Second Cuirassier here in Gamma." Hazen further elaborated.

"Six clusters in gamma eh?" Joanna spoke for the first time.

"Well, the Irregulars are still on retainer to the Khan, so I only have you as long as the Khan does not have other orders for you."

Horse shrugged, "But how often can that be? I would wager that we will be in the OZ attached to gamma ninety percent of the time."

Hazen nodded, "I certainly hope so, I want to have five clusters ready. I have an itch called the Arc Royal Defense Cordon I would like to scratch soon."

"That is a sizeable pool to bid from."

"Bid? Bah…bid against what, Dezgra and traitors? No, when we hit the ARDC, it will be like a hammer. No batchal, no bidding our forces down so that bastard Kell and his mercenary lackeys can exploit a lack of numbers on our part. This will be for the honor of the clan."

Joanna slammed her fist on the table, "Seyla!"

"Seyla." Horse echoed.

Hazen nodded, a predatory smile creasing his face. The excitement that the promised of real combat created was palpable at the table. This is exactly what Horse had been longing for, for months now. Silence engulfed the table as each silently contemplated battle and the glory it would bring. Horse finally broke the silence after about four minutes.

"Want some coffee, Ro?"

"No, had half a pot already." Hazen pat his stomach, "But I would not mind one of those English Muffins I was speaking of, I hope the cook or whoever he sent gets back soon."

Horse felt fingers brush lightly across his back from right to left just at shoulder level. He turned his head to the left and looked up to see Star Captain Gisselle.

"I did not hear you leave this morning."

Horse's face reddened involuntarily. He looked back to the Galaxy Commander whose face showed mild amusement painted over a thin layer of disapproval.

"Galaxy Commander, this is Star Captain Gisselle, she will be competing for the Hazen bloodname in the upcoming trials."

Hazen, whose face still showed both amusement and concern over the practice of frees sleeping with trues, nodded.

"I have heard many good things about you Star Captain, it will be a great gain to the Hazen house if your name is added to the roster of bloodnamed."

"Thank you Galaxy Commander, Horse and I were discussing the composition of my team for the impending competition just last night."

"Before or after the coupling?" Joanna mumbled, which quickly prompted Horse's knocking of her knee with his.

Accept for a few embarrassing moments prompted by either Joanna's quips of Gisselle's amorous behavior, the remaining of the impromptu breakfast meeting went fine. The laborer working as the mess cook had indeed managed to find some real eggs and the vaunted English Muffins of which Rozendo Hazen had spoken of with such reverence. After exchanging the ritual parting formalities with Joanna and Gisselle, the Galaxy Commander had risen to return to his car and subsequently return to the Galaxy Command facilities. As he was leaving the mess facilities he asked Horse to walk with him. During the walk he had brought Horse up to speed on a few minor details and made some minor inquiries about supply needs, training, and logistics at the Camp. Just before climbing into the car Hazen narrowed his eyes and gave Horse a rather severe look.

"Just tell me one thing, Star Colonel."

"Yes, Galaxy Commander?"

"This Star Captain Gisselle, is she good?"

"I do not think I follow you, sir."

"You know what I mean." Hazen smirked and tapped his nose.

Horse fought a blush again, "Yes sir, very."

Hazen chuckled and clapped Horse once on the back. "Farewell, Star Colonel."

"Farewell, Galaxy Commander."

Horse took a deep breath as the car rolled away and out the main gate. It was not out of relief, but rather to get one last lung full of the crisp humid morning air before the sun, which was even know bathing the sky in a deep orange glow creating the most impossible blue at its edge, cooked the last bits of the mist off. It was a good day to be alive, a better day still to be standing on land he had helped conquer. He smiled to himself. A morning jaunt in his _Summoner_ would do him good.

_How long have you been up?_

"That's a silly question, you don't sleep anymore."

_I don't do much of anything anymore, I am in your head, remember?_

"Well then you should not ask silly questions."

_I am not going to argue with you, you are too stubborn._

"Coming from you, that is probably the funniest thing I have heard in my life."

_Let's go for that ride, I have not been in a mech since…well…the last time you were in one._

"Yes, a morning run will be good, Old Friend."

* * *

Black Shikari River 

Huntress

Kerensky Cluster

December 6, 3061

02:08 GST

"When the flag goes up, you know what to do, quiaff?"

The young ebon skinned elemental nodded, his face showed a confidence that belied his young age. He had a handsome, boyish face, which seemed to offset his 2.36 meter height and the thick bundles of sinew that comprised his body.

"Aff, commander." As he spoke, his breath condensed in the cold air, forming tendrils of steam.

"Good, good, get to your positions and get this done."

The elemental nodded again and ran over to a two and a half ton truck of venerable age. Climbing up to the passenger side of the cab, he leaned back holding onto the frame with his left hand. With his right arm, bent at the elbow, he pointed his index finger to the air and rotated his forearm in a tight circle, indicating to the other drivers in the convoy to fire up their engines.

The ancient diesels protested and then roared to life. Climbing into the cab he picked up the assault rifle stowed in the foot well on the passenger side and pulled the charging handle back about a centimeter, checking to make sure he had a round chambered. The trucks began to roll forward, picking up speed gradually as they rumbled down the dirt road set deep in woods bordering the Black Shikari River.

"Star Captain Bal?"

"What is it Preston?" The elemental turned to look at the driver.

"Sir, are you nervous."

"I would be lying if I said I was not."

"This will be my first action, sir."

Bal set about shortening the sling on the assault rifle and snapped the safety into the off position before placing it back again. Technically, this was only his third or fourth action and it was not like anything he had done before. Preston was only two years younger than Bal, but in many ways, Bal was the "old man" of the unit having seen action before the Great Refusal. Bal pulled the pistol from the holster at Preston's waist, pulled the slide back chambering a round and flicked the safety on. Then slid it back into the younger warrior's holster again.

"Do not worry, just head for the mechs like we discussed and get them powered up. Everything will go fine."

Bal, pulled off his heavy parka and slid the back window on the cab open. He tossed the parka into the covered back of the truck.

"Alright, I am going to get in my armor. Remember, when you see the fifteen mile marker to Bagera, drop down to 48 kilometers an hour."

"Yes, sir…thank you, sir."

Bal smiled at the young warrior driving the truck, "You will do just fine Preston."

Opening the cab he stepped out onto the high side of the truck, using the thick ribs under the canvas top as hand grips he worked his way around to the back of the truck and lifted the back flap, hopping inside. In the back seven mechwarriors and four other elementals sat. The elementals were in their standard battle armor with the exception of the missile pack, which had been removed to allow them to fit in the truck. Bal's armor sat propped in the corner. The mechwarriors looked cold, the shear pair of skin-tight shorts, and shirt doing little to stave off the freezing temperatures outside.

"Generating some heat is going to feel like heaven after this, quiaff?" Bal shouted over the rumble of the trucks large diesel engine.

The warriors grinned back at their commander, "Aff!"

Bal chuckled and proceeded to strip down to his shorts and pulled on the mesh body suit that allowed him to control his battle armor.

"Sir," one of the elementals in armor spoke through his external speaker. It added a rough metallic quality to the voice. It must be Elemental Freitag, the vocal filter made his voice sound even more rough and guttural than normal.

"Yes?"

"Preston informs us that we just reached the fifteen mile marker and he is slowing down."

"I copy, inform all other stars to keep a good two truck lengths distance between each other."

"Yes, sir."

Bal began to pull on his armor piece by piece. Though a normally lengthy process, he did it quickly, a combination of anticipation and experience driving him to quick action.

Before pulling on the helmet he strapped on his throat/ear mic piece and heard a flurry of talk. There was a lot of nervous energy in the convoy.

"Alright, clear the line." He barked and there was immediate silence.

Most of the warriors were technically unblooded having had their trial of position via an intensive series of simulator battles, and this was certainly not a typical sort of military action. He kept telling myself that everyone would perform well and nothing would go wrong, but secretly he was worried. The Jade Falcons had done the same thing with warriors that had not partaken of a true trial of position the difference was that Coventry was an actual combat action. Something about the risk of death seemed to legitimize the trial, and no matter how long you spent in a simulator, it still was not true combat.

"Preston, what is our position?"

"Sir, we are five miles from Bagera, eight miles from the mech bays."

"Alright everyone, take a deep breath. Now listen to me…this is hardly the type of thing we are used to. None of us were trained for smash and grabs. But, we have trained together for a long time. I have seen you pull off miracles in the simulations and I have seen you keep a cool head when everything went sideways. We are going to be just fine. Mechwarriors, your concern is getting to the mechs and getting them started up…you need concern yourself with NOTHING else, understood?"

There was a flurry of "affs" to the question.

"Now then, points alpha, bravo, and charlie, it will be up to us to keep their personnel pinned down. No needless deaths, every one of them may be one of us in short order depending on what kind of success we have in this raid. Everyone knows the rally points."

Bal had replaced the right arm laser with another manipulator arm and had slung a machine gun under each arm, both feeding from a drum on his back. He worked the charging handle on each arm with the opposite manipulator charging the first of a chain of 12.7millimeter rounds.

"Alright, ready check, sound off by points."

As the units began to report in by name and unit Bal began to wonder if Commander Aldus was in place yet. What if the timing was off? What happened if they go to their positions ahead of time? A convoy sitting idling in front of the mech hangers would look strange. If they drew someone's attention, it could cause trouble.

"Mechwarrior Miriam, ready."

"Mechwarrior Sandoval, ready."

"Point bravo, ready."

"All units present, ready, and accounted for, sir." the older Freitag barked.

Bal nodded in his suit trusting that Freitag had kept track even though he, himself, had been lost in thought.

"Preston, status."

"Almost at the gate, sir."

Bal silently held his breath. The truck slowed then came to a stop. His stomach churned, his heart was pounding. It was the moment of truth.

"State your business in Bagera." A falcon infantryman grumbled, his voice sounding distant and muffled.

Bal could just barely hear the voice over the engine.

"I've gotta shipment of J36 fluid for the binary."

"Those mechs are not in use."

"Beggin' your pardon sir, but why do ya think they need the fluid? Galaxy Commander Malthus wants those old mechs up and running."

_Excellent, Preston, excellent._ Bal thought to himself as he heard the confident improvisation coming from the young warrior.

"I had not been informed."

"Communications on this rock are always stravaged sir, it'll probably be some time tomorrow before the proper orders'll get here. But right now I've gotta drop this fluid off somewhere and it'd be wasteful to go all the way back to New Andery." Preston rummaged around in the cab, "Here're my orders."

Bal heard Preston handing the guard the forged orders for the shipment. Close inspection would clearly reveal they were fakes, but they had counted on the fact that most guards did not take the time to carefully examine orders. Preston had to be choking back his heart at the moment, but he was acquitting himself well. Bal would have to note how cool he had been in this high pressure situation in his codex. Though subterfuge was hardly the way of the clans, Preston was doing an exemplar job at placing the concerns of the clan over his own sense of honor.

"You wanna look in the back and see for yourself?" A confident bluff.

"No, that will not be necessary, proceed."

"Thank you, sir."

The truck crept forward and started to pick up speed. Bal had to fight the urge to cheer.

"Excellent job, Preston." Bal said into the comm.

"Mmm Hmm." Preston replied, trying not to look suspicious by talking to an empty cab.

The trucks moved on, the whining grumble of the diesel barely drowning out the blood pounding in Bal's ear.

"I see the mech bays sir, we are almost at the gate," Preston mumbled, trying to look like he wasn't talking no doubt.

"Everyone, ready positions."

The elementals, who had been sitting on the bench in the back of the two and a half ton, took a knee in the center of the truck bed, ready to bail out of the back gate and secure positions. Bal felt the truck slow for a moment, then pick up speed again as it went up a slight incline then leveled back out again. Preston then swung the truck in a large arc and stopped the vehicle. The engine cut and Bal heard Preston open the door as the other trucks pulled into the area and began to park as well. The pounding in Bal's ears was almost deafening now. As the engines of the cargo trucks died one by one, Bal heard Preston's foot falls as he walked around to the back of the truck. The pins on the tailgate slid up and Preston lowered the gate. With a barely perceptible hand gesture he motioned for Bal to climb out. Preston made a show of grunting and looking like he was lifting something heavy as Bal eased out of the truck bed.

"Hey! Could I get a hand over here?"

At the gate the two warriors looked at one another and shrugged, heading over to the trucks to see what the problem was. The first soldier had barely stepped around the side of the truck when he spied Bal. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring for a moment at the elemental then noticing the insignia painted on the armor. Before he could respond Bal's metal fist shot forward and struck the warrior on the side of his helmet, snapping his head sharply to the right. The warrior dropped his rifle and staggered for a second before falling flat, clearly unconscious. The other soldier had just rounded the truck and was bringing his rifle up to bear when Preston ripped off his helmet and struck him hard in the temple with the grip of his pistol. The warrior's eyes went glassy for a second as he dropped his rifle. Preston grabbed his shoulders and shot his knee up, catching the Jade Falcon on the chin and knocking him unconscious as well.

"All out, go go go!" Bal barked into the comm.

The elementals and mechwarriors streamed out of the five trucks. Preston quickly stripped off his laborer clothing and grabbed his Neurohelmet from the back of the truck and with the other warriors and a trio of elementals tore off towards the mech bays. The remaining elementals formed a perimeter watching all directions for personnel that might tip off the remainder of the garrison force to their presence. Elemental Freitag used pull ties to bind the hands and feet of the two unconscious Jade Falcon guards and took his place in the perimeter. Bal knew it would take about five minutes for the computer shunts to bypass the security systems in the mechs and access the root commands.

The seconds ticked away like hours as Bal scanned the faintly illuminated area. The air was still except for the occasional gust of wind and flurries of soft snow began to fall. Most of it evaporated on impact with anything other than free standing 55 gallon drums or similar structures. It was bitingly cold and Bal could feel it even inside his elemental armor.

"Warrior Freitag, time."

"Zero three oh three, sir."

Freitag was an older warrior. At 37 he was at an age when unbloodnamed warriors were usually transferred to solhama units. Though Bal had never asked, he expected that Freitag's lack of rank and blood name was more the result of some political machination rather than lack of discipline or ability. Though not in any official capacity, Freitag had become Bal's de-facto second in command. He made an interesting foil. Whereas Bal was young, boyishly handsome and of ancient African descent, Freitag was weathered and with a heavy Germanic influence. Both warriors had nearly identical build.

"Sir, its oh three oh five."

"Aff, Freitag." Bal keyed over to the command frequency. "Alley Cat to Kennel, dinner found."

"Copy Alley Cat, Fat Cat reports in position." A female voice replied.

"Fat Cat to kittens, fish dinner, repeat, fish dinner." It was Commander Aldus.

Bal keyed back over to the close range channel, "Fish dinner, repeat, fish dinner."

No sooner had the words left his mouth, five shots rang out near one of the trucks. Bal quickly turned to see where one of the Falcon warriors had wormed his way to his rifle and fired off the shots. Movement caught Bal's eye and he noticed a face looking out one of the windows of a tech shack nearby. Before he could react, the face vanished and a moment later sirens mounted on the large tower nearby began to wail.

"Freitag, kill that siren!"

"Sir!"

Freitag leveled his arm-mounted laser at the tower and through the lightly falling snow a nearly transparent red beam lanced at the tower. The siren did not die immediately, but rather let out a slow last gasp as the turbine inside wound down.

"Report!" Bal barked into the comm.

"Sir, we have systems bypassed on the mechs, powering up now." Replied Star Commander Nathanos.

"Contacts, one thirty." Shouted one of the elementals in the security perimeter.

Bal looked over to see a line of five Falcon Mechwarriors dashing towards another Mech hanger. Cocking his right shoulder back and leveling his arm, Bal locked his left manipulator hand with his right and traced a line of 12.7millimeter rounds at the Falcon warriors. He was under orders to prevent needless deaths so he aimed low, hoping to get their heads down without actually hitting any of them. One of the rounds that struck the duracrete ricocheted and key holed through the leg of a female Falcon warrior. Even from the hundred meter range Bal could see how the round had shredded the meat of her left thigh. A mist of blood momentarily filled the air around her leg as the round slammed into a wall behind her. She fell, pivoting on her right foot, her left leg locking at the knee and going stiff. In the cold air, sound traveled insane distances. Even from this range, he could hear her screaming as she clutched the top of the ravaged leg, a quick pool of blood forming under it. The remaining Falcon warriors dropped to the ground one crawling over to the stricken warrior.

Freitag ran over to the truck Preston had been driving, swinging into the cab and starting the truck. It was strangely humorous to watch the huge elemental squeeze into the cab, like a beetle trying to go down a passage in an ant mound. With the right arm useless because of the laser on the end of it, everything had to be done with the left arm manipulator. Gunning the engine he drove it over to the main gate and stopped it. Climbing out he ran a few steps than fired his laser into the engine block. The engine died and smoke began to billow into the air. A second burst from the laser ignited the volatile diesel vapors and the truck burst into flame and effectively sealing the main gate from unaugmented personnel. Bal glanced back over at the pinned down Falcon warriors and noticed one of the Falcons was affixing a tunicate to the downed woman. Sporadic weapons fire started coming from the eastern end of the compound, Bal turned and began heading that way, as he ran he shouted into the comm.,

"Freitag, make sure the west flank is covered!"

"Yes, sir!"

The world bounced around madly through his visor as Bal covered the two hundred meters from his position to the eastern flank. The Falcons had gotten a crew served machine gun up and it was barking loudly. Elemental Eugenia had taken several hits, none of them serious, but Harjel was oozing from the wounds in her suit.

"Nathanos?!"

Bal was answered by a resounding bang as a nickel ferrous slug shredded the mechbay door. As the door fell away, a _Cauldron-Born _prime emerged.

"Right here Star Captain, we are moving out."

Bal raised both arms and saturated the tower where the Falcon crew served was emplaced. The heads of the two Falcon troops ducked down as the 607 grain rounds chewed up the vinyl and tin structure of the watchtower.

Immediately behind the _Cauldron-Born_ was a _Hunchback_. The Mech lumbered around the side of the mechbay and to the duracrete wall to the south that marked their escape vector. The mech leaned forward and fired its autocannon. The air itself seemed to quake as the 20 class ultra autocannon spat forth a quintuplet of 203millimeter HEAP rounds at the duracrete. In the sub-freezing pre-dawn, the cannon made an impossibly loud bang as each of the five rounds spat from the bore. The giant brass casings hit the duracrete below with a similarly impossibly loud clang. If everyone in Bagera was not awake before that, they would be now. Bal counted as the _Cauldron-Born_, _Hunchback_, and a line of thirteen other mechs streamed forth and out the ragged gap in the wall.

"Bravo point, Charlie point, get to the _Warhawk_ and _Atlas."_

The ten elementals of the two points turned from their positions in the perimeter and took off towards the retreating assault mechs. Igniting their jump jets they sprung towards the giant vehicles like mechanical flees. Freitag was firing up a storm, blowing holes in the roofs of buildings all around the walled off motor pool and punching large holes into the guard towers that overlooked the area. Bal ran to one of the remaining four trucks and jumped into the cab. Turning the key in the ignition, the truck groaned to life.

"Freitag, get ready to evacuate."

"Sir!"

Freitag broke from his position and climbed into yet another truck, starting the engine and swinging it around, pointing towards the hole in the wall to the south. The remaining three elementals of the point piled into the back and Freitag gunned the protesting diesel heading for the wall. Bal looked over to the passenger side of the two and a half ton and activated the seismic charges. The second anything twenty tons or greater got within 10 feet of the vehicle, it would detonate. It wouldn't be enough to destroy a mech, but it would stop its advance. Freitag's two and a half tore through the gap in the wall, over the broken duracrete. Bal reached the gap six seconds later and jerked the wheel hard to the left. The truck heaved violently and Bal slammed his armored foot onto the brake. The truck shook violently and flipped onto its side.

"Star Captain, do you need assistance?" Freitag's gruff but perpetually calm voice inquired.

"No, I am fine."

Bal cocked his right arm back and shoved the manipulator out through the glass. Reaching out with both manipulators he sunk the steel fingers through the sheet metal of the hood and pulled himself out of the cab. Rising to his feet he took several bounding steps before igniting his own jump jets and soaring over to the truck being driven by Freitag. Grabbing a hold of the frame of the cab on the passenger side he barked for the truck to get moving. Freitag floored the gas pedal and the vehicle lumbered forward.

Two miles ahead was the forest. From there the forces would follow a series of streams and deep crevices through the mountains and to their base. The heavy tree cover would mask their entire path from anyone looking for them. Before elation could kick in, the sound of jet engines caught Bal's attention. He looked back and saw a Falcon _Bashkir _preparing to dive on them.

"Freitag, we have fighters, if you know anything you can do, do it now."

"I copy sir."

Freitag cut the wheel left for a second and began to swerve the truck, zigzagging a path to the woods as he redlined the engine. Bal tightened his grip on the frame, feeling the fingertips cut into the sheet metal as each sharp jerk to the left or right threatened to tear him free from the vehicle. He raised his right arm to bring his machine gun to bear on the omnifighter. His hope was that seeing the tracers flying at him would rattle the pilot, doubtlessly a solhma or freeborn, before it could manage a killing shot on the truck. The range finder integrated with his HUD showed the fighter closing.

300 meters.

A lance of pale green leapt from the right wing, missing the truck by a few feet and scorching the earth where it hit.

200 meters.

A second lance of green erupted from the left wing, this time sailing further off course and plowing into the ground about 70 feet in front of the truck. The pilot's next shot would probably be dead center.

100 meters.

Bal opened fire. Every tenth round was a tracer, hopefully that would psych the pilot enough that he would divert his shallow dive.

Bal felt the rattle of the gun in his right arm. He watched the tracers going in and lifted his arm, like a gardener adjusting the angle of a hose. Just before the fighter shot over, the tracers converged with the fighter. The craft shot out ahead of the truck and Bal watched as he began to climb for a second pass. The fighter shuttered for a split second and a thin tendril of black smoke began to creep out of the port side exhaust. He wasn't getting much thrust as his ascent suddenly became labored. He could hear as Falcon pilot tried to power through the climb when suddenly the fighter shook violently and the port engine started spewing large amounts of smoke. Suddenly the roar of the jets was muted slightly and a high-pitched whine had been added to the cacophony as the port engine died. The pilot leveled out the climb and started to turn as if preparing to loop around for one last pass when there was a loud thump and the smoke trailing from the port engine was licked with tendrils of flame. Before the _Bashkir_ could make it back around there was a resounding bang as half the tail section exploded on the aircraft. The fighter began to shake violently and the nose started to pitch ground ward.

"Eject…eject…eject you fool, eject!" Bal mumbled.

The canopy exploded up off the fighter and the pilot and command couch rocketed from the stricken craft. Bal let out a sigh of relief. The chute opened and he saw the couch drift slowly to the ground as the truck was reaching the edge of the forest. A few moments latter a loud explosion confirmed the fate of the craft.

"Did you SEE that?" Eugenia sounded mystified.

"See what?" Freitag shot back, sounding gruff as ever.

"Star Captain…"

"It was luck Eugenia." Bal replied curtly.

Freitag chuckled, a sound that carried its own kind of threat of violence with it. This was the type of laugh that struck fear into the weak. It almost made Bal's skin crawl.

"Star Captain, you know that luck only saves a man if he is skilled enough."

"I guess you are right Freitag. Well, a fighter kill will look good on my Codex."

Freitag chuckled again as the truck entered the woods and began following the high-speed trail the mechs were on.

They drove for another 30 minutes until they reached the first streambed. It was clear they would have to abandon the truck. Already they had taken more damage from the trip over the rough terrain than they had expected. It was of no concern, they could always get more trucks, but time was of the essence and they could not allow themselves to become bogged down by a truck that was ancient when Kerensky made his exodus. A quick head check and roll call revealed that no one was injured. With the exception of some scrapes and the holes in Eugenia's armor, none of the mechs or battle armor had taken any damage either. Bal lifted the helmet on his armor, feeling the cold air on his skin and suddenly realizing how hot it had become in the protective suit during the operation. He switched over to command frequency.

"Alley Cat to Kennel. All kittens accounted for…our bellies are full…we are heading home."

"Copy that Alley Cat, set course to five five niner, quiaff?"

"Aff, Kennel."

"Fat Cat extends his congratulations, Kennel out."

They entered the streambed and proceeded about two kilometers down it. It was slow moving, trying to keep the large assault mechs from scraping themselves up to much on the 10 foot rock walls on either side. On top of the Warhawk and Atlas, the elemental points provided direction for the behemoths and they negotiated their way through the shale. Bal got on the local channel and ordered the column to halt.

"Take ten, let our legs get a stretch."

As they climbed down and out of their mechs the members of the trinary started to whoop and holler. It was the after combat rush and even Bal was feeling it. Star Commander Nathanos jumped down from his Cauldron-Born and pulled a flask out of his utility belt. He let out a loud whistle and everyone quieted down for a moment.

"Trinary battle!" the roguish officer extended his arm with the flask and started walking towards Bal slowly.

"To the sneakiest, most underhanded, meanest, nastiest, stravag of an elemental commander in the whole galaxy."

He closed the distance and pushed the flask out further towards Bal.

"Star Captain Bal!"

The assembled warriors shouted their approval.

Bal took the flask and took a long drink from the mixed brouhaha inside, he grimaced at the drink, but the warming effect of the liquor felt good. He then lifted the flask and spoke.

"Warriors, we must always remember those who went before us and those that made the ultimate sacrifice. We must never forget the ways of the clans or who we are and why we are here. We made a gain today for the clan. Tomorrow we may all be dead, but today we live, and today we are made stronger than we were before, so I say…to Galaxy Commander Aldus Wirth…and to the Smoke Jaguars!"

The explosion of cheers from all the warriors present must have been audible from space.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: If it doesn't appear in a source book or authorized publication, it's my intellectual property. Everything else belongs to Wizkids and/or Fanpro or contractual agents there-of. © 2001-2006 FanPro, LLC. © 2001-2006 WizKids, Inc.  
MechWarrior, BattleMech, 'Mech and AeroTech are registered trademarks of WizKids, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

* * *

Setting Disclaimer:

Around 2002, I lost track of the development curve for Battletech and Mechwarrior. Only recently have I discovered the outcome of the Fed Sun civil war and the current story arc concerning Wobbie machinations against the universe in general. As it is, this story follows a somewhat independent story arc but remains true to the feeling and tradition of the establish cannon. I do hereby swear that I will not include super-mechs, aliens, psychics, wizards, dragons, Jedi, et cetera et cetera ad naseum lest I be smote by the Unholy spirit of Bryan Nystul. The story arc followed in this work is intended to act as a framework for GMs who want to run their own Battletech/Mechwarrior campaigns and I will be adding appendices with unit rosters, variant information, and character bios.

* * *

**Battletech: Resistance**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Camp Borte

Sudaten

Jade Falcon Occupation Zone

December 9, 3061

16:28 GST

A trigger is depressed. The action sends a message to a small laser, which then projects a beam along a selected path. The path intersects with a receiver, which registers a hit. The concept was over a thousand years old. Yes, there had been advancements in computer integration and shot registration. It was still called by the old name, but the current generation of MILES gear behaved in a far more sophisticated manner. Even now, it was registering an extended range laser hit that had fused the left lower arm actuator on Horse's _Summoner_. It was little more than a pot shot taken at the extreme edge of the weapons effective range, but anything that got through was bad at this juncture. Zeta had sent a force comprising four trinaries to the advance H&I/Counter-H&I training camp and it was clear they were more interested in disgracing Horse and the Irregulars than learning anything.

"Easy three, flanking action, come about by way two one niner, quiaff?"

"Aff, Star Colonel, moving out." Gisselle replied in her patent battle calm.

"Hard two, sitrep."

"Holding at Juliet five, just bring us something to shoot you lousy old freebirth." Joanna sounded decidedly less calm, something like elation filtered through her comm.

"Negative, negative two, re-deploy to X-ray one three, quiaff?"

"Aff, Star Colonel, we are on the way."

Sixty yards to his right, Star Commander Pegeen was apparently dueling with the pilot who had cored Horse's _Summoner_ in her _Battle Cobra_. One of the mechs she had downed at Damon Beach on Waldorf, Pegeen had claimed the mech as Isorla in the wake of having her own shot out from under her at the same engagement. Horse glanced at his screen as both PPCs scored hits on the _Maddog _Bravo model. The MILES gear registered the first PPC as chewing deep into the leg armor while the second had sheared away what was left of the armor on the left torso and detonated the simulated LRM ammunition.

In response, the judges switched off half the _Maddog's_ weaponry and cut its movement speed by two thirds to represent the substantial engine damage. Before any of the Zeta troops could return fire, Pegeen skirted her mech behind a stand of trees on the hill her star was fighting from. This was what the course was about, fast ambushes, precision firing then denying the enemy the ability to return fire. Stop an enemy, destroy their logistical base, make them pay for every inch of ground they cover, and deny them the ability to fight back. Mechwarrior Sanford Christu brought his captured _Blood Asp_ Bravo forward and released both salvos of faux LRMs at the advancing Zeta mechs.

Sanford Christu served as the pillar to Pegeens fast medium star mounting more firepower than any three other mechs in the unit. The long-range punch of the _Blood Asp_ served both to soften up enemies for the advance of the star's mechs and elementals but also to cover their withdrawal. Adding his Gauss Rifle to the fire he scored a hit on a _Glass Spider's_ cockpit. The judges once again applied the computed damage and shut the mech down registering the pilot as killed. That brought the total of "enemy" mechs downed to 8. There were several other Zeta units that had taken a severe pounding. Up to now, the Irregulars had maintained Zellbrigen rather than massing firepower. The purpose of today's exercise was to display how a clan unit maintaining the rules and strictures of Zellbrigen could still use terrain and tactics destroy and enemy large unit action without sustaining the losses usually associated with a stand-up fight. Well, at least that was what it was on the surface. Horse, and all his officers knew that the reality of the situation was that this was going to be a loud lesson about the acceptable behavior of overly political Falcon commanders.

Yesukai Shambag had sent warriors whose singular distaste for Horse was only rivaled by their unwillingness to learn. So far there had been a day and a half of lecture punctuated by insults and a total disrespect of the personnel giving the lectures, freeborn and trueborn alike. It became clear to Horse at evening mess of the first day that no amount of lecturing and courses on field-craft, strategic deployment, and guerrilla tactics were going to get through to the Zeta troops so it was decided that it was time to get them out on the field and, subsequently, making a fool of all of them might finally get them listening. He didn't expect to get any respect from them; that was out of the question, most of these troops were of the typical haughty trueborn type he had learned to despise. They may not respect him, but they would listen, and they would listen well. Disgracing the Zeta warriors, and by proxy, Yesukai Shambag would help ensure her tenuous hold on command would start to slip as more and more warriors began to challenge her right to lead the unit. It was, perhaps, and underhanded way to deal with a disruptive officer, but there could be no dissention in the Falcons. Up until this point none of the training exercises and courses run by the Irregulars had contained any personal animosity. Before the Zeta warriors had arrived Rozendo Hazen made sure to forward Horse a series of messages and attributed statements that Yesukai Shambag had made about Horse, the Irregulars, Khan Pryde, and freebirths in general. Hazen was counting on Horse's calm and persistent brand of retribution to do what he could not: disgrace and discredit a disruptive influence in the clan. It was a touch more manipulative and underhanded than was common among the Falcons and it was clear that Rozendo Hazen was manipulating Horse. Not that Horse really cared. He knew that Rozendo Hazen would always view him as inferior as a freeborn, but the fact that the trueborn commander treated Horse with respect and fairness, making sure that both he and his unit received a fair portion of supply and assets on par with any of the front-line clusters in Gamma had always seemed to offset the fact that Hazen thought Horse's genetic origins were dubious. Horse reminded himself, as he had constantly in the past four years, that being viewed as inferior was not the same as being viewed with contempt.

Firing off a single pulse from his extended range large laser, Horse skirted back around the side of the hill which Pegeen lead her star behind, the remainder of his mechs in tow. Horse knew the Zeta warriors were frustrated. So far the Irregulars had burned through a star and a half of Zeta mechs and three points of elementals without taking any casualties.

So far, the brunt of the fighting had been on Trinary Alpha, Gisselle's Charlie and Joanna's Bravo had remained virtually unscathed, which gave Horse an edge. Even now, both trianries were moving in on Zeta's flanks. The result would be that the bulk of the Zeta troops would be caught in the crossfire of Gisselle's mechs on the ridge to the northwest, Horse's Trinary of mechs and elementals to the east, with Joanna holding the river directly to the south. When the trap was sprung, the Zeta warriors would be caught in withering crossfire. With this type of tactic, it would take time for the corralled units to figure out who was shooting at them and where the shots were coming from. Given the shallow grade of the ridgeline Trinary Charlie would be on and how it was connected to the hills that Alpha was sitting on, they units could be swung around to allow Charlie to attack the enemy rear while Alpha adopted the ridge position and Bravo moved into the foothills. This combat wheel made it hard for an enemy unit to find an adequate path to retreat along, it also meant the bunched up units could not always bring their weapons to bear effectively against the constantly moving flanks. It was just one of the unusual tactics that was part of the Irregulars repartee. It was effective not only in that it neutralized an enemy's ability to maintain fire on a single target, but also because it provided a quick path for withdrawal for the three trinaries and allowed them to shift into different formations quickly.

As Horse's heavy star wheeled around the reverse slope of the hill, Star Commander Pegeen's star continued its relentless harassment. Pegeen's Battle Cobra shot up over the hilltop as she let off two quick shots from her PPCs before wheeling the unit around and vanishing back into the thick tree line. Both shots registered on the right torso. The computers calculated a third engine hit and the mech was powered down.

Pegeen's cheer had an avian quality. "Chalk up another one!"

"Nice shot Commander." Elemental point commander Gerard piped in.

Sanford Christu added his own fire again, his left torso LRMs marked up an advancing _Hellbringer_ while his right torso rack and Gauss rifle finished off a _Warhammer IIC_ he had been chipping away at. The MILES gear registered the gauss round coming in and neatly clipping the _Warhammer's _right leg off just above the knee actuator. The techs overseeing the exercise and tracking the action on giant simulation screens cut power to the mech's gyro for a split second and cut power to all the right leg actuators, forcing the pilot to wrestle against the mech's weight trying to keep it upright. The Zeta warrior failed and the mech landed face first on the ground with a resounding boom kicking dust, dirt, and gravel into the air. Horse watched the fall with apprehension, hoping the warrior would manage to get the mech turned sideways. Any fall where the cockpit impacted with the ground ran the risk of killing the warrior inside. While he did not mind the idea of making him look like a fool, he did not want to see any Falcon deaths, regardless of what their attitude or whom they served under.

"Warhammer zero five, report your status." Horse keyed his mic, gritting his teeth in anticipation of no reply coming, signaling a dead or injured warrior in the cockpit.

There was a moment of silence. He had not wished anything ill on this warrior. Casualties in this type of exercise were unacceptable. Not that he would be held responsible if a pilot could not guide a mech through a safe fall, but it was wasteful to lose a warrior to an accident. Horse remembered this warrior in question he was one of the Zeta warriors that had at least not been overtly rude. He sat in the briefings and lectures and looked disinterested but he, unlike his comrades, had never made a rude or disparaging remark.

Horse was preparing the key the mic again.

"I…I am uninjured." Came the reply, the voice tinged with anger and shame.

Horse relaxed his jaw.

An _Adder_ Charlie model, also from Pegeen's star, made an arcing dash along the top edge of the foothill adding his PPCs to the fracas, targeting an on coming _Summoner_. The first shot did not register and the second registered on the left arm, putting the Gauss rifle in the limb at risk of being destroyed in the next exchange.

In return the _Summoner_ put both a simulated Gauss round and Large Pulse Laser shot into the side of the _Adder_. In response to the onslaught, the techs cut the gyro for a moment on the light mech and it fell to the ground, sliding down the hill. The shots had registered as destroying the targeting computer in the mech's right chassis housing while the large pulse laser had flayed most of the armor from the adjacent arm.

"Alright Star Colonel, I am in position."

It was Joanna, her mechs were sitting in the middle of the 4 meters deep river, while her elementals scurried up and out of the water and into the tree line.

"Aff two, hold position."

"Easy Three is 100 meters out, Star Colonel." It was Gisselle this time.

"Aff, when Easy Three crests the hill, all units attack, all elemental points move to and hold your designated positions. Big one, move to the hill top."

Horse wheeled his mech around and began marching it up the hill, as he did so the rest of his trinary followed. The _Adder _was working its way back into a standing position now, moving back up the hill along the path it had slid down.

As Horse crested the hill a simulated extended range laser blast ate through more armor on his torso.

"All units, open fire." Horse barked.

Four more Zeta mechs were considered destroyed almost immediately as direct fire from the two other stars of trinary alpha laid into the advancing enemy. The behemoths powered down remotely, the arms sagged and the bird legged vehicles sunk to the ground. One of the fated mechs, a _Hellbringer_, had its gyro cut and it staggered backwards, ramming hard into an _Incubus_ before rolling to the side and hitting the ground. The smaller mech staggered under the impact, looking as if it to might fall itself.

On the ridge, Gisselle's missile heavy trinary was showering the left flank of the Zeta advance with simulated missiles. Mechwarrior Barnard, easily spotted in his _Turkina _Alpha scored a quick pair of headshots with his gauss rifles, taking two more Zeta warriors out of the fight.

Joanna's trinary, standing waist deep in the water, were not attempting to manage their heat. The fusillade of simulated laser and PPC strikes opened up gaps in a dozen of the Zeta mechs' armor. On the hill, Horse let a single burst of autocannon rounds loose. The MILES gear indicated a hit to the center torso of a _Kit fox_ Prime. The mech hit the ground "destroyed" even before the heavy casings from the blank autocannon rounds hit the ground. Horse then immediately directed his attention to the lone _Timberwolf_ Prime that had been firing on him. Releasing his Streak six-pack and large laser into the advancing mech, which staggered back as his gyro simulated the hits.

The Irregulars had not escaped completely unscathed. The _Adder_ that had been damaged earlier had been considered destroyed, as had a _Fire Falcon_ and a _Kit fox_ Delta from Gisselle's Easy Three. Barnard and Sanford Christu had absorbed some horrific damage from a Zeta _Marauder IIc _and a _Warhawk_ Prime. Both mechs had, however, seriously pushed their heat levels and were in jeopardy of being shut down by the techs carefully watching their simulated heat track. Several other Irregulars' mechs had taken heavy damage, mostly in Horse's trinary, but two stars of Zeta troops had opened up on Gisselle's units on the ridge. Zeta was now down about a trinary and a half the fight was at risk of degenerating into a melee quickly. Horse was sure that either Barnard or Sanford Christu would soon break Zellbrigen, not because of a lack of discipline but rather how they were taking fire from units they had not already engaged. Sanford was getting dangerously low on ammunition and it would be virtually impossible for him to take multiple mechs when his LRMs ran dry. Barnard was not in so precarious a predicament in terms of ammunition, but the fact that three mechs were currently engaged with him could quickly take him and his uncanny marksmanship out of the fight.

In the treeline, Star Commander Marx Icaza was anxiously waiting the Zeta mistake that would break Zellbrigen. Once that happened, Horse would lure the remaining Zetas back into the trees where the elementals could make short work of any mechs unfortunate to be boarded by them. The fact that a single _Nova Primary_ from Zeta had fallen back from the main body was an indicator that they expected the elementals to flank from behind. Marx ruminated for a moment on the irony of serving under a freebirth commander when he, in fact, did not like freeborns. Unusual among elementals, Marx had a refined sense of taste. He enjoyed decorum, preferring refined speech to the coarse language of most warriors. He appreciated art, music, fine cuisine, and above all the simple yet elegant poetry of the Remembrance. While he did not _hate_ freeborns, he did find them to usually be horribly uncouth and abrasive. Horse was no exception, he could be horribly sarcastic and acerbic, however, the Star Colonel reminded Marx of great war leaders of yore: men who led from the front, down in the blood, mud, and carnage of a battlefield. It was deliciously anachronistic, poetic in its own right. Marx respected Horse's martial prowess, any fool would. Horse was, after all, an exemplar warrior, the lines dedicated to him in the Remembrance was proof enough of that. Beyond that, there was a kind of suppressed urbanity and sophistication to Horse that he could not quite put his finger on, and that intrigued him. Regardless of his conflicted reasoning, Marx had vowed to do proud by this freebirth that had given him a command and whose apparent trust in his ability surpassed the subtle tension that existed between the two drastically different officers.

"Star Colonel, I believe I am dead, sir."

Horse grimaced at Sanford's report. So far Sanford and Barnard had been engaging two or three mechs at a time, but under the broader rules of Zellbrigen it was not yet a melee. The Irregulars were considered the attacker for this exercise. No two Irregular mechs fired on the same target, as such, a Zeta warrior could only return fire against the target that engaged him or her. Sanford had just downed a _Hellbringer_ when a _Glass Spider_ and _Great Wyrm_ simultaneously opened fire on the weakened _Blood Asp_. With the damage he had already sustained it had not taken much to "destroy" the mech. The techs shut down the power in response to the massive system failures that would be occurring according to the shot placements on the MILES gear.

Horse didn't even have to give the order. He began marching forward and immediately the other two _Summoner_ Charlies and _Night Gyr_ Alphas of his star fell into position around him. Moving into position all five mechs opened up with their 20 series ultra Autocannons. The sharp, all piercing bangs of the 203mm cannons seemed to become the air itself, it was oppressive, like humid air, hanging around you, subsuming everything and seeming to permeate the skull itself as ear drums quaked in protest to the sudden change of pressure as the fumes of Cordite N seemed to creep into the cockpit despite the hermetic seal and scrubbers. Even inside his cockpit, Horse's ears were ringing as the cascade of fifty, twenty kilogram casings showered the earth below. Even with blanks, the autocannons bucked hard when fired and the report was probably louder than with live ammunition.

Alpha Star, Trinary Alpha…they had been called "Horse's Star" and the "Khan's Hammer" in trials and small unit actions ever since the battle of Waldorff. The mix of large lasers and massive twenty series autocannons coupled with the short range missile six packs had turned them into one of the most feared single stars in the invasion corridor and the home worlds. Opponents quickly had learned that allowing the star inside 300 meters usually spelled doom, as the unit did not seem to care about running their autocannons dry in small unit actions since their opponents would be downed before ammunition supply became an issue.

Even now, four more Zeta mechs had been registered as destroyed while the _Warhawk_ that had been accosting Barnard was trying to limp away, half its weaponry sheared off by Mechwarrior Pendle's _Night Gyr_.

With the strictures of Zellbrigen removed, Barnard began taking pot shots at any mech with a significant amount of damage, the goal being to finish them off before they could contribute towards the attrition that was now starting to wear on the Irregulars. In exactly this manner he downed a _Cougar_ and a _Pouncer_, the former being "killed" by what was calculated as a catastrophic breach of engine shielding and the latter by its head being blown off. A probability engine began chewing on data transmitted from the MILES gear, calculating the potential for a catastrophic failure of the _Cougar's_ fusion bottle. For whatever reason, it decided that the Nickle Ferrous round had struck the engine in such a manner that it had degaussed the fusion bottle and calculated that both the plasma and hydrogen reaction mass of the reactor would hyper expand from the mech's chassis creating a 48 meter across ball of ultra hot, hyper excited particles. The computer immediately decided that a _Kit Fox_ and _Hankyu_ had been "destroyed" by the destabilization of the _Cougar's_ reactor.

The _Timberwolf_ that had been accosting Horse was advancing now with a full star of fresh mechs in tow. So far the damage to the Irregulars' mechs was moderate to heavy. Four more Zeta mechs downed and Horse could force the matter to judge decision and they would be required to determine whether or not the Zeta forces could have successfully countered against the now numerically superior Irregulars. He did not want to use that as his out, but the facts were that based on the current damage taken, by the time the Irregulars had the Zeta forces down to a single trinary, they would, most likely also be down to a single trinary, likely that of Joanna's who had managed to avoid a great deal of damage to this point. As Horse wheeled his star north to begin climbing further up the hill and hopefully draw more of the Zeta mechs into the woods and into his elementals he noted that eleven mechs were now in pursuit of his command unit. At the head of the two star group was the _Timber Wolf_ of Star Colonel Dirk Helmer. He had assumed control of the 53rd Battle Cluster after Star Colonel Fyona Koga was killed in the fighting against the Nova Cats on Gatekeeper.

"You sanctimonious son of a bitch." Horse grumbled.

_Look who's talking._

"Shut up, I'm busy."

_It is all right, I know the feeling._

"You sure do pick the damnedest times."

_It is a trueborn trait, we make our own schedules and expect the universe to revolve around it._

Horse laughed, "I really have to do something about this overactive imagination I have."

_What makes you think I am part of your imagination?_

"Can we discuss this later?"

_Oh all right, if you insist. Now turn around and get to work._

"Thank you ever so."

Horse turned his _Summoner_ suddenly and brought his 203mm cannon to bear on an advancing _Hellbringer._ Squeezing the trigger he felt the entire mech shake as a double burst of five rounds fired. He glanced down at his scopes seeing with satisfaction that the ten imaginary HEAP warheads had torn the center completely out of the mech. The techs back at the HQ cut power to everything in the mech and it fell to its knees then flat on its face. Both of the _Night Gyrs_ fired with complete disregard to their heat scale, ravaging a _Gargoyle _and _Kingfisher_. The remaining two _Summoners_ also released a double burst of autocannon fire, adding their large lasers and SRM packs to the havoc. Mechwarrior Kubbrick cut both legs out from under an advancing _Shadowcat,_ which duplicated its larger brother's face-plant as all the leg actuators had their power cut simultaneously. Checking his scanners he noted that Gisselle's trinary had downed three more Zeta mechs at the cost of four of her own, including Barnard who had drawn an absurd amount of fire. Joanna's "Hard Two" was still the least damaged of the units having lost only a single mech so far but having racked up another three Zeta warriors. Horse could call it now, petition the judge of the exercise to cease the combat action so the date could be reviewed and the decision made.

"No, I promised Ro I would make an example of these surats."

_You did at that._

Marx Icaza saw his opportunity and the five points under his command all ignited their jets, sailing from where they were hiding in the trees. As they did, they discharged their missile packs, the MILES tracking a path from each missile housing to a target mech. Each point landed on a target Zeta mech. The simulated boarding action could only be resolved by an elemental making it to the cockpit of the mech in question and opening the hatch. This was considered a kill for purpose of this exercise. Icaza's point landed on the back and shoulders of a captured _Predator_ and Marx immediately began scrambling up the back of the mech to get over the shoulders and their massive Faraday 10 series LB-X autocannons. As he climbed, the mech shuddered as the two guns fired on Horse's star. From the angle, Marx could tell that at least one of the guns would have missed. Using his right elbow to brace himself and the left hand manipulator he began to scale the mech's torso quickly. Horse was more than capable of defending himself and his star, but with nine to five odds, it could quickly turn disastrous when all five mechs were already damaged and running low on ammunition. Upon pulling himself up to the top of the broad shoulders, Marx looked over the front of the torso, spying the oddly waistline placed cockpit. The elemental Star Commander simply stepped over the side, free falling to the cockpit, his left hand manipulator tracing along the torso armor plating so that he could grab on should the mech suddenly lurch. His feet hit hard on the flat cockpit top. Immediately he reached down hooking the three steel fingers through the hatch opening lever and pulling it, throwing the hatch open. Before the mechwarrior inside could react, he shoved the manipulator arm in the cockpit and fired the anti-infantry machine gun mounted on his manipulator arm. There was a loud screech as the warrior's MILES gear went off, signaling him as being killed in the cockpit. The Zeta warrior looked enraged, an expression that made Marx grin with a strange type of satisfaction.

"You know you cannot defeat me freebirth, run while you can."

Dirk Helmer had taken to taunting Horse over the local band communications channel. Even now he was spitting epitaphs like they would bring down Horse's mech.

"Stravag freebirth chalcas, your freebirth unit and dezgra tactics cannot save you from a trueborn warrior. I am superior to you; you are nothing and will be destroyed like nothing. Turn and face me Surat!"

Horse always found it amusing how blustering idiots would contradict themselves. He had first told horse to run, then, he told him to turn and fight. Helmer had been swearing up a storm, a sure sign that he lacked the mental acumen necessary to find a deeper, more biting insult. Nothing he had said was anything that Horse hadn't been hearing for years coming from the mouth of hundreds of warriors just like Helmer.

_He certainly does like the sound of his own voice, but I think the poor lad is confused._

Horse chuckled, "When did you start saying 'lad'?"

_I do not know, if I am, as you think, a figment of your imagination, it is you who are technically saying "lad"._

"Oh please, do not start with semantics."

_I was only trying to help._

"Okay, well help me now, what is your thinking?"

_Turn around and just kill him._

"That simple?"

_Aff, that simple._

Horse once again turned his mech around. The star followed suit. Horse worked the joystick in the cockpit, bringing the targeting reticule on the HUD up and over Helmer's _Timber Wolf._

"Freebirth! You will never be what I am!"

Horse indexed all four weapons systems simultaneously and depressed the trigger. All the weapons registered their hits. The SRMs had splattered across the _Timber Wolf's _torso regions while the pair of lasers both burned into the weakened left torso of the mech. The twin blasts of autocannon fire finished the jobs, registering as having severed both the left leg and detonating all the ammunition in the right torso.

The impersonal voice of one of the techs came over the zone communications.

"Star Colonel Helmer, you are dead, the exercise is concluded. All mechs will now be powered down."

The reactor in Horses mech was remotely shut down, the cockpit went dark.

_I suppose he is right, you will never be what he is._

"Aidan…"

_Yes?_

"Quiet."

The Irregulars' comm. channels were all a-chatter as units checked up on each other and congratulated one another on their feats of marksmanship and piloting. Horse was surveying the scene, one that should have been full of shattered and burning wreckage but was instead filled with powered down mechs that looked more like herd animals sleeping than a battlefield. He again found himself craving real action. While the handy defeat of the numerically superior Zeta troops had been satisfying in its own right, he would have much preferred to witness the actual destruction of a real enemy. Caught in his rumination Horse was startled by the firm command from the combat judge.

"Star Colonel Dirk Helmer, power down your weapons immediately."

Marx Icaza was standing with his point near Horse's command star when he heard something. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew it was out of place. A very high-pitched whine, almost at the edge of what he could normally hear. He turned, looking for the source of the sound, his eyes coming to rest on the _Timber Wolf_ the Star Colonel had downed to end the engagement. The arms were splayed forward where the mech lay, and he could just notice that the left arm's weapon bore had heat shimmering in front of it. The arm was the same type used on the lighter and more common _Hellbringer_. Small points of light began to materialize near the bore, swirling in an irregular pattern. The whine was getting louder suddenly he realized…the weapon was being powered up. Somehow the pilot had bypassed the security protocols on the energy weapons and was preparing to fire it. Rotating his suit to contend with the tunnel vision that the visor created he saw the line of sight. It was pointed at Star Colonel Horse.

"Star Colonel Dirk Helmer, power down your weapons immediately."

Icaza dashed forward, trying to cover the seventy meters between himself and the weapon before it could discharge. If he was lucky, he could push the weapon aside then rip out its command circuitry and power transfer cables before it could discharge.

Inside the armor, the world seemed to quake as his visor bounced up in down along with his body movement. He could hear his own breathing coming hard and in ragged gasps as he ran. He was not even thinking about his steps, simply feeling the ache in his thighs and calves as he willed the suit forward, more under his own power than that of the suit itself. The PPC became the single object of his focus…if he could ram it hard enough, he might be able to clear its LOS from being on Horse. Something told him it had to be aimed carefully at the head, there would be no reason to attempt the shot otherwise.

He reached the massive arm just as he saw the discharge bulb begin to form inside the PPC's electro-magnetized bore. Slamming into it he wrapped his right arm around the front of the weapon, placing it in the path of the bore and planted his feet, straining against the massive 8 tons of weight and the dirt in which it had planted. He felt the weapon budge, the sensation of the lower carriage of the arm grinding into the dirt, dragging a path through the dry soil seemed to grind at his body like sand paper. Stars exploded in front of his eyes as he strained with every muscle he had. His thighs, calves, and buttocks felt as if they were on fire as the cloven foot of the armor dug into the dirt, sliding a moment before packing down hard enough for the force of the motion to be transferred forward. It felt like it took minutes but as he counted down mentally, waiting for the discharge, hoping he could get it clear and get away before the discharge. With one last monumental push he moved the arm another two feet. He shifted his heals back, ready to pull away when it happened.

He didn't hear anything.

He didn't feel anything.

Interestingly all he could experience was smell and taste.

His eyes were momentarily blinded by the discharge of the PPC.

But he could smell something strange: the heavy ozone smell of the particle discharge, the heavy odor of boiling metal, the sharp pungency of melting plastic, the odor of meat…sweet meat being burned.

His knees went out from under him. His legs just stopped functioning and he fell to the ground. He suddenly had trouble breathing. Colors became impossible sharp everything seemed to emit a corona of disparate colors creating impossible shades around the bland colors of the woods, the sky, the ground, and the mech before him. The medley of smells seemed to creep up his nose and into his mouth. On his tongue the various strange vapors became sapid. His mind quested to find a comparison. It was like he was tasting the physical essence of battle.

As sound returned to him, he realized voices around him were yelling, muffled through his powered down suit. Then the scrambling of manipulator claws over his suit, and hands…pulling at the armor, working levers. The face and chest plate came up and away. Wisps of smoke arose from inside the suit around him as the fresh air wafted in.

"Star Colonel Dirk Helmer, power down your weapons immediately."

"…but did you see that shot that Sanford made?"

"It was nothing, he was in my sights and I…"

"I would not say 'nothing,' Sanford Christu your gunnery is second to none."

"That coming from Barnard is almost…"

"You are to modest Barnard, your gunnery is the best in…"

"When are they going to let us power up and get…"

The jumble of voices had so distracted Horse that he was not even thinking.

_Horse!_

"Huh?"

The PPC blast shot past, clipping the top of his SRM launcher, missing the cockpit by less than two meters.

Voices suddenly began shouting into the short wave. He couldn't understand what anyone was saying. Looking out of the cockpit he saw the steaming bore of Dirk Helmer's right arm PPC. Rage washed over Horse's vision. He did not seem to be conscious of popping the hatch on his mech and kicking the foot ladder over the side. He didn't even seem to be conscious of the decent. By the time he had reached the ground a point of elementals were already "dismantling" the PPC.

"I will kill you, you piece of filth!" Horse bellowed as he dashed at the fallen _Timber Wolf_ when he was suddenly stopped in his tracks. Laying on the ground, surrounded by mechwarriors and elementals lay a downed elemental. Immediately Horse noticed the three yellow bands of paint wrapping around the right lower leg of the suit.

Star Commander Marx Icaza.

House stepped forward slowly, forcing himself to move to the stricken elemental, daring himself to see what his sense of pride had wrought.

A pair of elementals where on a knee, trying to ease part of the suit free from the body. He looked down, not wanting to but knowing he had too.

Where the right arm laser or his hand should have been was nothing but blackened flesh, a piece of bone, burned to a sickly reddish brown jutting from the charred meat. All the way up his arm, the flesh was burned irreparably. As his eyes traced up the arm, the flesh went from carbonized until, gradually, at the shoulder, it had just been burned to an impossibly deep crimson, beads of blood seeming to emerge from thousands of pinpricks.

"Star…Colonel?"

Marx Icaza's choked voice came forth.

Horse walked closed and knelt near the elemental Star Commander.

"I am…glad…you are alright…sir."

Icaza's face was unbelievably pale and beads of sweat were all over his forehead.

No amount of painkillers could be working right now, Horse was sure of that.

"Just hang on Star Commander, they have a truck heading here now." Horse did not know if he was lying, but he hoped it would be of some comfort. He had seen elementals die from less, that was not to say they were weak, but the damage must have destroyed over a liter of blood and even know, blood was being contaminated by rapidly dying cells. Not being a medical expert, he had no idea how long it would take for sepsis to take hold.

"I…have not intention…of dying…today…sir."

Horse nodded solemnly at the warrior and stood, "Good, because I would not allow you to, and you do not want to disobey my orders."

The elemental affected a weak grin that was probably more of a grimace.

Horse turned away, the rage coming on him again. He stormed around the front of the _Timber Wolf_ and as he came around the front he saw Dirk Helmer already standing there looking smug.

_He hates you, look at him, show him, teach him_.

Horse didn't give him a chance to get ready his foot shot forward, hard into the trueborn's stomach. Helmer gasped as the impact forced the air out of him. Horse, however, was not finished. He grabbed the back of the warrior's head, bending him forward and shooting his right knee up into his face. There was a satisfying crunch, indicating a broken nose, maybe a few eye orbits as well. Helmer made hacking and coughing noises, blood was pouring from his nose, Horse found it strangely satisfying.

"What? I don't think I heard you right? What did you say?"

Horse slammed the trueborn Star Colonel's face into the side of the _Timber Wolf_, then did it again for good measure.

"Speak up! Speak up you piece of slimy canister filth!" Horse smashed his fist hard into the nose of Helmer who let out a gurgling cry of alarm and pain.

_I don't think he has learned his lesson well enough._

"What did you say?!" Horse telegraphed the punch, his right fist shooting out and catching the trueborn on the jaw sending a spray of saliva and blood onto the _Timber Wolf's_ main fuselage.

Helmer retaliated with surprising speed, bringing his fist up and slamming it into Horse's crotch. The freeborn warrior staggered for a moment, the tendrils of pain quickly becoming tentacles, wrapping around his stomach and gut. He could feel the pain all the way into his back and shoulders and down into his feet. It was a substantial blow against an area with no bone or muscle to protect it.

_No, not you Horse, you are to strong for that. I've seen it._

Warriors had started to gather, turning it into what would appear to be a circle of equals.

Horse staggered for a moment, then the rage that seemed to be in all freeborns to some extent took him again and he took a step forward slamming his knee into the bloodied trueborn's face. He felt another crunch, no doubt worsening the breaks already in the battered head and face of Helmer. He fell to the ground in response to Horse's latest assault, on his hands and knees.

"You're…not…talking! What did you…say?"

Helmer spat and gurgled a response, "Freebirth…"

"That's what I thought you said!"

Horse placed his hands on Helmer's back then, lunging forward, planted his knee into the prostrated warrior's side. He heard the air being forced out of the battered trueborn and quickly flipped him onto his back.

_Teach him his lesson Horse_.

"The problem with freebirths…is that they believe in street justice."

Horse grabbed Helmer's right arm, placing the hand under his own armpit while locking his forearm along the inside of the trueborn's arm. He began applying pressure, slowly, forcing his own forearm forward with help from his other arm. Once he had locked his arm well enough against Helmers, he grabbed the forearm he was working on, twisting as he continued putting the pressure on it. Helmer cried out in pain and Horse continued pushing on the arm while the trueborn struggled against his grip but clearly to drained from the beating he had already received.

A hundred thoughts and images flashed through Horse's mind as he continued to put pressure on the arm until he finally felt a crack, then a snap as the bone fractured. Helmer had apparently lost consciousness because he didn't make a sound as the bone broke. Horse rose to his feet and spat on the maimed warrior.

_That's how you do it_.

A strange feeling of composure descended on him, as he stood he adjusted his pilot's jumpsuit and wiped the blood off his hands and knuckles on the legs of the uniform. The rage had subsided. It suddenly dawned on Horse that he viewed the warriors in his cluster as something like his children. It was a feeling that brought some revulsion to Horse, as children were not a component to the warrior life he espoused. But none-the-less, he felt the same need to protect, defend, and nurture that was associated with parenthood. Horse put the obsessive contemplation out of his mind, right now there was only one concern on his mind, making sure that Star Commander Icaza was evacuated. He may have clashed some with the man due to the fact that he as freeborn and Icaza was a typically trueborn supremist, but he was still a fine officer and one that Horse had felt was good enough to place in his own trinary. Icaza had also clearly been willing to sacrifice his own life to save that of his commander Horse could not think how to word that kind of devotion. He turned and strode back to where a truck was being loaded with the injured Marx Icaza, as he did several Irregulars and Zeta elementals nodded, affirming the justice they felt Horse had done in the stead of their trothkin.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: If it doesn't appear in a source book or authorized publication, it's my intellectual property. Everything else belongs to Wizkids and/or Fanpro or contractual agents there-of. © 2001-2006 FanPro, LLC. © 2001-2006 WizKids, Inc.  
MechWarrior, BattleMech, 'Mech and AeroTech are registered trademarks of WizKids, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

* * *

Setting Disclaimer: 

Around 2002, I lost track of the development curve for Battletech and Mechwarrior. Only recently have I discovered the outcome of the Fed Sun civil war and the current story arc concerning Wobbie machinations against the universe in general. As it is, this story follows a somewhat independent story arc but remains true to the feeling and tradition of the establish cannon. I do hereby swear that I will not include super-mechs, aliens, psychics, wizards, dragons, Jedi, et cetera et cetera ad naseum lest I be smote by the Unholy spirit of Bryan Nystul. The story arc followed in this work is intended to act as a framework for GMs who want to run their own Battletech/Mechwarrior campaigns and I will be adding appendices with unit rosters, variant information, and character bios.

* * *

**Battletech: Resistance**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Spiderholm

Roche

The Kerensky Cluster

December 9, 3061

19:12 GST

A thought is a strange thing: the simple modicum of data, sending the mind into a quest for understanding, layers of contemplation folding in on one another and themselves, redefining understanding and perception. Eventually the original data and the thought it provoked could be convoluted to the point that a thing you thought you understood was non-understandable. The belief in your own wisdom becomes your a realization of your foolishness, your truths become convenient fictions, your victories become your defeats. The mind was at once the greatest ally and greatest enemy an individual could have, it was this sort of paradox that always brought a strange, morbid sort of smile to Janissar Kirov's lips. To him is symbolized the ultimate futility of everything, if one could not even count on their own mind to serve them, what then could they truly expect? It was precisely this cynical outlook that had always forced Janissar to strive whenever possible, to prove more to himself than to anyone else that his existence was justified. Honor meant nothing…it was fleeting and did little more than reinforce a system that doomed itself because of its own inflexibility.

He understood the Star League, he understood its haughty ideals and why it had ultimately failed. Though he would never say it to anyone at the risk of being viewed as chalcas, or worse yet, a traitor…he viewed Stefan Aramis' war as a mercy killing of a system that had become as corrupt as what it purported to guard against. Janissar only had this one life to live; and live he would. He sought to fill his life with as much wisdom and beauty as he could. To him, war was a necessity that, while grim in execution and end result, had its own beauty. He had never been able to hate…not people, the other clans, those who sought to destroy him. Even with his unorthodox views…his unwillingness to classify himself as either warden or crusader…he still loved his clan. Unlike most of his brethren in both the clan and among other clans, he was a creature of passions. Not that he was sexual; he was willingly celibate…his passion was for life and all the endeavors that it entailed…even if it meant death. After all, was not death also part of life?

His rumination on his rumination, and how invariably futile the act of philosophizing was, filled him with a sort of excitement. Even his own mind was a miracle of life. How could a driving aspect of his psyche be so potentially contradictory to his own psychological and philosophical development? The unanswered mystery of why his greatest weapon worked as hard against him as for him was the type of miracle he had come to savor. But there were other matters to contemplate now. Elemental Sandra, a warrior in the specialist trinary of his own 35th Scorpion Cuirassiers, had received his nomination for the Kirov bloodname and had just finished a bout in the quarterfinals of the competition. Janissar had not witnessed the fight, but he already knew the outcome…he had foreseen the entire match on their trip here.

Built, as it was, inside a cavernous mountain, Spiderholm offered views that could be rivaled few places in the home worlds. The building Jannisar stood in front of was inside a cavern mouth. To the west, the mouth of the enormous cave looked out onto stone plateaus and the setting sun. He closed his eyes for a moment, holding onto the image his mind twisting it into a more and more fantastic image as colors became exaggerated, textures more distinct. Underneath the black shemagh wrapped around his face and head he could still taste the bitter sweet of necrosia. He licked his lips slowly, savoring the taste. Many of the warriors he had served with made clear their concern over his heavy addiction to the substance. He often went into battle still under its effects. He had won trials of grievance, trials of possession, even his blood name while heavily under the influence of the potent hallucinogen.

Every warrior had a unique reaction to necrosia…almost no two could say the feeling, the experience, of necrosia was the same. For Janissar it was not only a powerful hallucinogen that would cause him to slip into dream like states, it was a euphoric. Even now, as the last effects of the poison filled his limbs and body with delicious warmth, he felt the urge to draw his kindjals and dance the scars with his own shadow. It had been some time since he had attained a stock of the drug that was this potent and high in quality. His charges had suggested that his fame and glory in the clan and among the seeker movement had guaranteed this seeming preferential treatment. Indeed, during his time as a seeker he had not only fought a number of hard-won trials of possession and won innumerable battles against superior numbers, he had also rendered a number of treasures to the Temple of the Nine Muses. He also defended his own genetic heritage from predation by Clan Blood Spirit. He was considered a ristar from the moment he graduated into the warrior caste with three credited and one non-attributed kills in his trial of position.

"Star Captain?" a soft voice inquired of him.

Kirov turned and looked up to see Elemental Sandra standing next to him. He loosened the shemagh around his head to expose his face to Sandra. It always reassured her to be able to see Janissar's face, a fact she had admitted to him on the trip here.

"Come, let us go. Do not dwell on it."

"How…"

"I foresaw it the day we landed here."

Tears of frustration were welling up in the young elemental's eyes. Kirov could already see where tears had traced down her beautiful face, she was, no doubt, quite devastated to have failed this far into the bloodname trials.

"You could have told me." She softly sobbed.

"If I had told you that I foresaw your defeat, would you have tried? We cannot bring ourselves glory, indeed, we do not live if we never try."

The two and a half meter tall woman sat down, her back pressed against the cold marble finished ferrocrete, she folded her massively muscular arms across her knees and wept softly for a second. It was decidedly out of character for a trueborn, but it was even more uncharacteristic for an elemental. Sandra had, however, always been a timid creature something had happened her first time experiencing Necrosia, it had caused some trauma that did not seem to interfere with her capacity to act as a warrior in combat, but left her socially crippled. Janissar squeezed her right shoulder softly, almost affectionately.

"There will be another bloodname trial."

She sniffled, "Probably not for me."

Kirov massaged the shoulder, feeling the tension in the thick-corded muscle that covered her otherwise feminine and sensually appealing frame.

"I will just sponsor you next time." He almost cooed his reassurance.

"Even though I failed?" she looked up at the mechwarrior who now towered over her in her sitting position.

"A failure would indicate that you did something wrong. You did not fail, you were simply bested by a more experienced warrior…one, I might add, who is in his third bloodname trial having been eliminated twice before. I, for one, am proud of you…you made it to the quarter final round."

She looked up at him with large moist eyes, a smile crossing her face.

"Do you mean it?"

"Would I have so spoken if I did not?"

Her smile deepened, "You always mean what you say."

With a leather gloved hand he wiped the remnants of tears and the traces there-of from her eyes.

The mechwarrior extended his hand to help the elemental rise. He had never thought he would say it, but this was an elemental who truly seemed vulnerable outside her armor. Janissar feared she would never advance beyond her current rank, not because of any lack of skill but rather her complete inability to assert herself. He had watcher her literally get spooked by technicians before. She backed down to anyone and everyone. The few times she had been in the circle of equals she had won, but still behaved like a beaten animal tucking her tail and running. Galaxy Commander Myers was a patient and understanding commander, but he openly admitted to Janissar that he had considered transferring her several times as her unwarrior like behavior outside her armor reflected badly on the cluster.

Upon reviewing her codex, Janissar became aware that she had only managed to keep from washing out of her sibko training due to high testing scores. Her psychological profile described her as timid, easily intimidated, emotionally fragile, and prone to anxiety. This was, of course, when she was not performing her duties as a warrior, which she did with almost mechanical efficiency. She was beautiful for an elemental. She had long hair and a well-shaped, feminine face with full lips and large eyes. Despite the overwhelming mass and density of muscle on her body, she still kept a lithe hourglass shape that had so long been viewed as an ideal of human female appearance.

"Now then…"

"Shall we go to my quarters?" She had been trying to get in Janissar in bed for some months now, probably more because he made her feel good about herself than anything. As disassociated as the act of sex was from breeding and thus overrode, to a certain degree, the basic human instinct to find the most physically and genetically sound mate, warriors still seemed to be drawn to couple with those who fulfilled the ancient human standards of attractiveness. Despite her behavior, other warriors often sought Sandra out for the purpose of coupling. Janissar had once heard her point commander comment that they should assign her private quarters so at least then the other elementals would not have to leave the quarters to accord her and her partner du jure the requisite amount of privacy to complete the act.

"I have business to attend to right now. You on the, other hand, will go to a warrior bar located a half kilometer from your quarters and have not less than three but not more than five stingers, you will find a warrior, most likely a house Shaffer elemental, and you will take him to your quarters."

"Did you envision this?" She sounded mildly in awe.

"No," Janissar gave her an enigmatic smile, "I was making a suggestion on what you should do and I know there is a Shaffer bloodname series occurring parallel to the Kirov."

Sandra lowered her head slightly, Janissar was not entirely sure if it was out of shame or disappointment.

"Well, after your business is done, will you come to my quarters anyway? I just…want to talk with you…or something. I do not know, maybe you could tell me the tales of your time as a seeker."

Janissar graced her with a skeptical but bemused look, "Alright, but then you should make it not less than five and not more than seven drinks."

She apparently picked up on the subtle implication that the only way he would feel safe entering her quarters was if she was incapacitated by liquor and she allowed herself an amused smile in response.

"Whatever you say Star Captain."

They parted after ritual formalities, Sandra to go drink away her worries and Janissar to his important meeting with Khan Suvorov. He had seen visions pertaining to the meeting between the two. It was not common that a warrior under the rank of Star Colonel would be granted an audience with the Khan, much less summoned to a private meeting. His vision had been strange and disturbing to him. In her office, Khan Surovov had a giant desk, over the sides of which, sand spilled forth like a waterfall. On the sand Janissar had beheld a scorpion molting its old chitinous skeleton. As the creature shrugged off its old husk it began to grow. Hate seemed to seethe from the arachnid as it proceeded to attack and kill any animal that came close to it. The remainder of the vision had not made sense to him. The imagery became too bizarre and conflicted. At one point, a dark gray predatory cat had stalked around the scorpion, neither seeming to gain the edge on the other. He came to believe that this is where his mind began to sensationalize the visions, diverting him from the true portent they held. As he walked to the office he decided it would be better not to reflect to extensively on it. He adjusted his shemegh again as he walked to cover his face once again. He passed numerous technicians and laborers as he went all attending to some necessity or another. Janissar reflected with amusement that it had seemed that Spiderholm was a throwback, creating a new breed of troglodytes.

Cave people.

It took him ten minutes to reach the hall of the Khan deep in the cavern. It appeared as if it was made of obsidian with a large gold goliath scorpion over the main entrance. Flanking the entrance were a pair of the quad legged _Fire Scorpions_ that acted as both honor guard and totem for the clan in their emplacement. They were painted a deep glossy black, seeming to look even more like their namesake that would normally be possible in the dim artificial light of the cavern. As he entered the building, he was stopped by a pair of elementals, clad in battle armor painted the same color as the two mechs outside. A technician checked his codex with a laser code reader and confirmed him as Star Captain Janissar Kirov of the 35th Scorpion Cuirassiers. He further confirmed that he had a meeting scheduled with the Khan in fifteen minutes. The elementals stepped aside allowing him to pass into the marble hall. The architecture of the former Widowmaker enclave was very angular with a vaulted ceiling and support columns that rose at an angle making the ceiling surface area smaller than that of the floor. At the end of the hall a giant obsidian statue depicting the clan crest rising on a column of scorpions sat on a raised dais. Noting it with passing interest Janissar headed for the elevator that would take him directly to the Khan's office. It too was guarded by black armored elementals. After presenting his codex bracelet to this pair he was allowed to enter the elevator. He noted that this elevator was designed to match the décor outside. The normal wood grain plastic panels were instead black marble patterned plastic panels. Even though the attempt was made to appear more refined and sophisticated, it was still plastic. Janissar reflected on how elevators seemed to be cursed to be tacky no matter what was done to dress them up because of the necessity to keep weight at a bare minimum.

He was not entirely sure why the Khan wanted to see him specifically, but he was relatively positive it could not be good. The chain of command was there for a reason. If the Khan needed something done who could have contacted Galaxy Commander Myers and had him arrange to warriors to be deployed or sent wherever they may be needed. It was not her responsibility to micro manage the touman and its deployment, that was needless complication that would only serve to hamstring the command structure.

Janissar hated elevators. First the feeling of your heart dropping down into your stomach as the thing began to rise suddenly. Then, as the thing slowed down, your stomach would shoot up into your throat. He had to grudgingly admit that this elevator operated a lot smoother than some he had been in. In this particular lift the sensation of organ displacement was at most an inch or two, putting it high on the surprisingly perfunctory list of best elevators he had ever ridden on…not that such a list actually existed as anything more than a passing reflection on how lousy some were in comparison to this one. The doors slid open and he once again stepped past a pair of fully armored elementals. Further down the hall he noted four more just in front of the door that doubtlessly lead into the Khan's office. Tired of flashing his codex at every elemental he passed, he strode out of the elevator with an authority born of his success as a military commander and before that his years as a successful seeker who had brought many treasures to the Temple of the Nine Muses. Striding down the hall, he noted the seemingly deafening report of his boots against the marble floor, echoing against the barren walls. He found himself wondering what had driven the architects of the building to use so much marble and not something more efficient and practical.

He walked past the four elementals before they could stop him to check his codex and rapped on the door in an authoritative manner.

"Come in."

Janissar entered the room to see the Khan sitting behind an enormous marble desk. As a aerospace phenotype, the large piece of furniture made her seem impossibly small.

"Star Captain Janissar Kirov, reporting as ordered Khan Surovov." He reached up and pulled at his shemegh, revealing his face.

"Ah yes, please come and sit Star Captain." She gestured to a long low couch about four feet from the desk.

The office was much darker than the hallway he had just walked down. A few small florescent lights provided a modicum of light around the edges of the room, set up in marble fixtures. The entire office was dark marble, the same color as the desk. The desk itself looked as though it had been designed with an elemental in mind, it was the only reasonable explanation for its ridiculous dimensions.

"I understand you were here in sponsorship of a warrior on her bloodname quest?"

"That is correct, Khan Surovov."

"I trust no ill had befallen her?"

Janissar twisted his face into a grimace, "She was bested today in the quarter final round."

"She was not slain, quineg?"

"Neg, she was not injured. Her opponent had participated in two previous trials, he seemed to make good this time. She will fight again."

Surovov leaned her elbows on the desk, steepling her fingers in front of her face.

"Elemental Sandra, that was her name quiaff?"

"Aff."

"I reviewed her record when I saw you would be sponsoring her, she is a strange sort as a warrior."

"Indubitably."

The small woman leaned back, "And what reasoning did you have for sponsoring her?"

"She is a fine warrior, what she lacks in confidence she makes up for with efficiency and unswerving loyalty. Her social traits aside, I believed she would benefit house Kirov and the clan when her genes were accepted into the sacred pool."

She arched her left eyebrow, "When?"

"Aff, when…"

"So, you have foreseen this?"

Janissar thought he knew where this was going; she was trying to confront him about his necrosia habit.

"When I made the decision to sponsor her, I became aware that her destiny was to add her genes to future generations of elementals."

He had tipped his hand. He was prepared for the dressing down, but he did not care…he would fight a trial of refusal if need by, but he would not let go of the necrosia.

"Galaxy Commander Rik Myers has concern about your heavy use of the seeker serum…he believes you may be at risk of enduring The Molting."

The Molting…it was a condition that befell warriors whose use of necrosia had gone on for to long. It was a form of progressing dementia primarily characterized by overly aggressive behavior and a loss of proper social balance. Warriors suffering from The Molting were prone to take offense at anything, calling for reckless trials of grievance at the drop of a hat and often killing their opponents. The term was a reference to when an arachnid, in this case a Scorpion shed its old exoskeleton as it grew larger. Those that underwent the destructive mental disorder often did not live long enough for the condition to be adequately studied and thus the scientist cast had come to no conclusions regarding a proper treatment.

Secretly he found himself offended by this concern for his well-being. He had given the Scorpion eight years of exemplary service, contributing to the clan's prestige, territory, and honor as well as contributing to the seeker movement. If he wanted to be taken by a gradual all consuming madness and die at the hands of another warrior whom he had foolishly called to the circle of equals, then so be it. It was his business, not theirs. It was bad enough that his life had already been dictated by the martial society and that he would never be able to do the things he had always wanted to. Selfish as it may be, the facts were that humans were meant to be born free and even if it was an illusion, believe they were the masters of their own destiny.

"Am I to assume from this I will be forbidden from acquiring and consuming necrosia?"

He did not speak the words as a challenge, but there was a palpable almost murderous undertone to the question.

Surovov could almost detect the danger, "That is not why I have brought you here. We cannot tell you how to live providing you do not defy the chain of command. If you think the necrosia is worth going mad and destroying your career, so be it. Of course, it would be a shame to see you declared either unfit or to see you dead before your genes could be accepted into our gene pool."

Janissar's face adopted a wistful look, "Truth be told, I have never had a desire to contribute to the gene pool."

The khan's face became a mask of revulsion and shock, "In the name of Kerensky, why not?!"

"I do not believe it is right to bring a life into the universe that is destined to strive only to one end…war."

"That comes dangerously close to sedition."

A half smile crossed the young mechwarrior's face, "But not close enough to discount my service record."

Surovov's expression soured. "No, not close enough to discount your service record. Which brings me to why I have summoned you here. There is trouble on Huntress, it would seem…"

"The smoke jaguars have arisen…."

Surovov seemed shocked. "How did you know?"

"Visions…"

"Of course."

"Well, this problem has been defined as largely a Jade Falcon and Inner Sphere problem, but Rik Myers has suggested and I concur that we need a Goliath Scorpion representative their given our substantial holdings on Huntress." Surovov leaned far back in the chair, her face adopting a thoughtful expression. "Galaxy Commander Myers had recommended you for the job…but I find myself wondering if you are indeed the person we seek for this job."

It was a subtle stab. She was hoping the accusation underlying her comments would spur Janissar to want to prove himself. The reality was that he just didn't care, he would go where his duty sent him and do what had to be done to the best of his ability. While he may not believe in the way of the clans, he was, foremost, a trueborn warrior and it was his duty and obligation to act the part whether he liked it or not. Janissar, however, saw through the bluff easily.

"If you had truly believed that, my Khan, I strongly doubt you would have even mentioned the issue at hand." His smile was almost predatory, having seen through her strategy.

She grinned, almost bashfully, apparently slightly abashed over the fact that her attempts to enrage him into action had failed so pathetically. "Alas, you are correct there. When can you be ready to depart for Lootera?"

"I will need to return to Abysmal first and round up my mechs and support crew first, then I can make immediately for the former capital. Am I to assume that I will be traveling without my trinary?"

The Khan nodded steadily, "We cannot spare the rest of the trinary, but from what I have seen from your record, you will fair well. The _Saggita _is still charging its KF drive, it will not be prepared to jump for another thirty six hours, so that will give you enough time to finish any business you have here in Spiderholm. A craft will be available to taxi you to the warship at the landing strip two kilometers from here."

Janissar rose to his feet. "Like a wild ass in the desert, I go about my task."

The small woman looked at him with confusion and incredulity on her face, shaking her head at the strange man even as a humored grin began to spread across her face.

"You seekers are a weird lot…"

* * *

Psi Galaxy Headquarters 

Huntress

Kerensky Cluster

December 9, 3061

09:08 GST

"Freitag…"

"Yes sir?"

"I have a rather personal question."

"I am sorry sir, you will never be as good looking as me and there is nothing I can tell you to change that." It was a patently Freitag response.

"No, seriously."

"What is it?"

"Why did you never win your bloodname? It is not a lack of skill or ability. What kept you from ever getting sponsored?"

"Because I am burdened with my own type of Dezgra."

"You are a freebirth?"

"Heavens no."

"You have enemies in your bloodname house?"

"No."

"An act of cowardice in your past?"

"Not as such."

"You are a warden?"

"Not per say."

"Then what?"

Freitag sighed, "I am a Christian, sir."

Bal went silent. In the clans, religion was virtually unheard of, even more so among warriors. The Cloud Cobras had their own religions in the form of Cloisters. The Goliath Scorpions and Nova Cats had their mysticism. But canonized religions were rare, almost a taboo. Bal had never heard or read of a religious crusader much less a Smoke Jaguar.

Even after saying the words, Freitag was diligently working on his battle armor, preparing it for the next engagement. He either felt no shame over his religion or had become inured to the effects of shame caused by following what most warriors would consider to be a dezgra faith. Bal knew little about Christianity but he did know it was supposed to be a religion of peace.

"How…" Bal tried to think of how to word the question, "did that come about?"

Freitag sighed again, stepping back from his elemental suit. Bal had never seen Freitag seem rattled before. This was definitely something that was very serious to him.

"It is a long story Star Captain."

"We have nothing but time."

Freitag turned to look at the younger elemental, he suddenly seemed very old, as if some great burden had sucked the life out of him.

"You may not be able to tell from looking at me Star Captain, but I was once a young man…"

Freitag proceeded to tell Bal the story of his conversion long ago in the first year of the invasion. There was something epic about the tale. He had been seen as a ristar during the first days of the invasion. He attacked with ferocity and gave no quarter, he was, in short, the prototypical Smoke Jaguar warrior. He embodied everything that was the clan ideal, striking swiftly and efficiently. He had three solo mech kills to his credit and it was widely believed he would receive his bloodname and gain a command barring him getting himself killed during one of his famous charges at enemy lines.

It had been on Turtle Bay that everything changed. It was a name that had become synonymous with shame among the Jaguars. The world where guerrilla forces had compelled the commander of the Jaguar forces to orbitally bombard the city of Edo. Millions died during the Jaguar occupation, it had become the standing model for how NOT to conquer a planet.

"We were in pursuit of some Yakuza who had bombed a supply depot the night before. We were just outside the city of Ichijima when the insurgents ran into a Church. Now, you must first realize that Yakuza are criminals, local toughs who put pressure on people for 'protection' money. If they were religious at all they were probably Shinto-Buddhist, but definitely not followers of the Judeo-Christian-Islamic triumvirate." Freitag paused a moment, getting a far away look in his eyes. "I cannot let you kill them, this is a house of God."

"Huh?"

"The priest, that is what he said. He was such a small man…but he just stood there, in front of our entire star, arms outstretched, trying to ward us off."

Freitag began snapping belt linkages closed around the brass casings of the 12.7millimeter rounds used in their machine guns.

Bal leaned forward on the stool on which he was seated.

"And…?"

"The Star Commander told him to step aside, that there were criminals inside. The priest refused to move, so the Star Commander pointed his laser at the man's head and…well, I think you know what happened next. It was that moment I knew that this one man had more strength in his faith than we had in all our suits combined. We eventually caught most of the Yakuza members and they were executed…but the priest had made enough time, in sacrificing himself, for some of them to escape."

"I do not understand Freitag, is not Christianity a religion of peace? Does not your warrior status conflict with it?"

Freitag's face was dominated by a pensive expression. "I suppose it might seem that way. However, Christ himself was a type of warrior…taking the keys of death from the depths of hell. He died combating injustice. I have read of no such ban pertaining to being a warrior and a Christian in our holy texts."

Bal shook his head, trying to absorb the strange new revelation about his closest friend. It explained much about him. The way he did not join in when chiding a freebirth, the fact that he never brought women back to the barracks for coupling, the respect he extended his superiors. He did not swear, he did not tell crude jokes. He had always assumed it was just a personality trait, but now he began to wonder if it was indeed his religious proclivities that dictated his strict and moralistic behavior.

"How does the religious keep you from being in conflict with your status as a trueborn?" Bal challenged.

"Render unto Caesar what is Caesar's, and render unto the Lord what is the Lord's."

"I do not think I follow you."

Freitag fed the end of the chain of bullets into the ammunition flexi then began to turn a hand crank, pulling the string of rounds into the ammunition drum.

"What it means is that my service, my obedience, and my physical body are all the clan's but my soul…well you get the picture."

"Soul? How can you quantify the soul? How do you even know there is actually such a thing as a soul?"

"Faith."

"And what exactly is faith?"

"The irrational belief in something that can not be quantified."

"But is that not wasteful? Faith requires a consumption of your time and interferes with you acceptance of cold facts."

"Not really."

"But…"

"Sir, we have a mission coming up, should we not be thinking about that and leave the debate of metaphysics and theology to a time when matters are less pressing?"

Bal grumbled, "I suppose you are right."

Freitag let out a gruff sounding chuckle as he finished winding the 500 round belt of ammunition into the drum and connected the flexi to the feed port on the machine gun slung under Bal's suit's left arm. The shortage on technical staff in the underground Psi Galaxy headquarters meant that many warriors had to tend to their own maintenance to a greater or lesser extent. Elementals were virtually out of luck when it came to finding a technician unless there was some major problem with the suit. Most times, maters of ammunition reloading, armor patching, and basic maintenance was left to the elementals themselves. Freitag has sub-specialized in munitions during his time I crash-camp and as a result was usually in charge of seeing to the SRMs, machine guns, and small arms used by the elementals in his star.

"So, what do you think Star Colonel Moon has planned for us today?"

Bal, who was now leaning on the worktable where Freitag had been loading the ammunition shrugged, his chin resting on his hands.

"Stravag if I know. Seems the chain of command right now is between Galaxy Commander Wirth and the Star Colonels only. We Star Captains just get marching orders and little more these days."

"Well, you do know that she and the Galaxy Commander are intimate."

Bal shrugged again, cocking the left corner of his mouth up in a dissatisfied expression, "Nothing strange there."

Freitag looked at the younger warrior with a mischievous expression. "They are monogamous."

"Huh?"

"They only couple with one another…odd is it not?"

"How did you find this out?"

"I hear things…things that people do not say in front of Star Captains."

Bal sat up, crossing his arms and resting his elbows on the table, "Why you little spy, you."

"Insulting me now?"

Bal chuckled, "Leave me alone, I am tired and hungry."

Bal's trinary had been on active alert since 17:45 the previous day and virtually all the other warriors had taken the opportunity to grab some sleep during the float time. Prior to the alert call at 17:45 they had only been accorded five hours off time. The result was that Bal and Freitag had not been able to stop for over a day now. The two had tasked themselves with re-arming the elemental suits while the techs did an once-over on the unit's mechs. Bal hadn't slept in 31 hours now and his normal 5000 calorie diet had been shaved down to a meager 2500 these past two days. For an elemental this was subsistence, bordering on starvation level. He wished Freitag would stop working so he wouldn't feel bad about leaving him there. His stomach grumbled as if to supply confirmation for Freitag who never seemed to get hungry or tired. Indeed, the older warrior ate when it was time to eat, slept when it was time to sleep, but never indicated that he actually _needed_ either food or sleep.

"Then go eat something, surat!"

Bal stood up, "That is a good idea, but first lets get these SRMs loaded. Go-code is scheduled for fourteen thirty, that should give us enough time to grab some breakfast and a nap."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Wait, so you are actually hungry?"

Freitag gave Bal a sardonic grin. "I could eat."

Bal's moue was almost its own reply, "Just once I want to hear you say you are either hungry or tired."

"I will be sure to make it my Christmas present to you."

"Sounds grand…now lets get these SRMs loaded before all the food in the mess is gone."

* * *

Strong arms wrapped around her as she stepped into the office. Pulling her close to a powerful body. Above and next to her head, she almost could feel the sharp breathing in that always characterized the first physical contact. She had grown accustomed to it, the way her lover always seemed to breath in her scent when he first touched her. She was a tall woman, one and eighty seven hundredths meters tall, in her sibko she had towered over all the other females. She had looks too, and she had used them through out here career to leverage any situation that her talents alone could not contend with: not that there were many of those. She reached up with her right hand to touch her lover's face, feeling the smoothly shaven skin of his jaw, the tight muscles bunched along the mandible, then upwards further to the short cut hair at his temple and scalp. She was tempted to give in…but this was not why she was here.

"Dahlia…" The husky whisper came just above her ear.

"Did you miss me that much?"

"I did not sleep."

She turned in the arms to look up at her lover's face. The Delphian eyes looked back down at her from the ruggedly handsome face that bespoke her lover's Wirth blood.

The affection they felt for one another, the passion underlying their relationship was almost to freebirth for her taste, but the feeling brought her such pleasure that she overlooked the anathema to their clan ways.

"Well, I am here now, but first…the briefing."

She would have rather they lock the door now and commence through to the completion of their romantic grappling. Her relationship with him was hardly professional and hardly conducive to a properly operating chain of command, but she seemed to care as little about that as he apparently did. He seemed to fight with himself as whether he should let her go or not. He slowly let her go, wanting to touch her as long as possible.

"As you say Star Colonel Moon, the briefing."

He turned and carried his strongly build two meter frame around his desk and was seated.

Dahlia Moon sat on the couch adjacent to the desk in the cramped office leaning into the soft cushioning, letting her hand trace across the fabric she had felt against her skin countless times as they coupled in the darkly lit room.

"As we discussed, we have noted a major gap in the security of the repository between the hours of twenty three hundred and oh five thirty. We believe this would be the most convenient time to breach the defenses and secure our objectives. Your Star Captain Bal has been briefed on what to expect once inside, quiaff?"

Dahlia reached up and moved a few strands of her golden brown hair from her face, "Aff, Galaxy Commander, he and his elementals have trained extensively on the layout and entry plans for the repository. One full point has been outfitted with storage cylinders in the place of the usual SRM packs for the purpose of conveying the objective."

It was all formality. They both knew the other knew the situation, the units, and what to expect…they were going through the motions for the sake of consistency. Dahlia was, at twenty seven, once of the most promising senior officers that Jaguars had seen in the better part of two decades. Lincoln Osis had sent her back to his occulted Psi Galaxy just as the so-called Operation Serpent had begun. Along with a handful of promising sibkos and officers, Dahlia was meant to help rebuild the clan should the rest of the clan fall before Victor Steiner-Davion and his ersatz Star League. The Galaxy Commander, Aldus Wirth, was an obscure Star Captain from a Jaguar front line unit that had not been presented the opportunity to test up. Wirth was a consummate mechwarrior but had a penchant for organization and tactics that had kept him under the thumb of overly ambitious commanders for most of his career. Aldus had a disturbing lack of ego for a clan warrior, which contributed to the way in which he was used throughout most of his career. Had Lincoln Osis not spotted his talents and sent him back to the home worlds at the opening of Operation Bulldog to begin assembling an elite home-defense unit, he most likely would have been lost in the SLDF drive to eject the Jaguars. The briefing continued with a type of dull mechanical functionality for another fifteen minutes. Upon finishing Wirth rose from his chair and stretched his powerful arms. Dahlia looked at him appraisingly, reflecting on the pleasure she always took upon seeing his magnificent form unclothed. While not as bulky as an elemental, he had the type of decathlete body that was the standard for male beauty. Dahlia cocked her head to the side, looking at him with a sidelong glance.

"Aldus…how much did you miss me?"

"It was one of the more unbearable nights I have ever spent."

"Show me how much you missed me."

He looked down at her on the couch with an impassive expression, but his eyes betrayed his concupiscence.

"One moment, I forgot to lock the door."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: If it doesn't appear in a source book or authorized publication, it's my intellectual property. Everything else belongs to Wizkids and/or Fanpro or contractual agents there-of. © 2001-2006 FanPro, LLC. © 2001-2006 WizKids, Inc.  
MechWarrior, BattleMech, 'Mech and AeroTech are registered trademarks of WizKids, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

* * *

Setting Disclaimer: 

Around 2002, I lost track of the development curve for Battletech and Mechwarrior. Only recently have I discovered the outcome of the Fed Sun civil war and the current story arc concerning Wobbie machinations against the universe in general. As it is, this story follows a somewhat independent story arc but remains true to the feeling and tradition of the establish cannon. I do hereby swear that I will not include super-mechs, aliens, psychics, wizards, dragons, Jedi, et cetera et cetera ad naseum lest I be smote by the Unholy spirit of Bryan Nystul. The story arc followed in this work is intended to act as a framework for GMs who want to run their own Battletech/Mechwarrior campaigns and I will be adding appendices with unit rosters, variant information, and character bios.

* * *

**Battletech: Resistance**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Comstar Headquarters

Tukayyid

Free Rasalhague Republic

December 11, 3061

03:48 GST

_Never in a thousand years. _

If anyone had ever asked him if he would ever be a father, he would have told them: "Never in a thousand years." A thousand years was not quite as long as he had expected.

He looked down at the baby sucking eagerly at the bottle resting in the crook of his arm. His little arms were out to his sides and his tiny fingers curled into meaty little fists as he drank. A grin crossed Victor's face as he watched his boy repeat the action over and over, switching off hands in an awkward infant way.

"Oh, big fists! Are you daddy's little fighter?" He cooed at the infant.

The large brown eyes rotated up to look at him as he continued to suck greedily at the bottle. To Victor there seemed to be realization and awareness in they eyes. Most psychologists agreed that babies his age did not understand what was being said to them, Victor could not look into the eyes of his son and believe that. As if to codify his beliefs, the infant shook his little arms, his hands still balled into fists. He was going to be tired tomorrow, that much was certain, not that it wasn't already "tomorrow." He had an inspection at 0530 and he had already been up twice with Kitsune, even if his baby boy fell asleep in the next 10 minutes, he would only be getting about another 30 minutes of sleep before he had to get ready for the inspection.

There were times when the fact that he had a son was his only lifeline. Though he hated to admit it, Omi hadn't even been enough to preserve the will to live in him. After his "triumphant" return from Clan Space, he had felt more alone than he ever had at any point in his life. Katherine's machinations were the straw that had broken the camel's back. Three times after the return, he had prepared himself to eat a bullet. Alone in his quarters on Luthien, he had made all the preparations. He wrote a will, a suicide letter, and had reconciled with himself the finality and the necessity of his self-destruction. He had gone to great lengths to acquire the weapon with which he had planned on carrying it out. It was an ancient weapon, well over a thousand years old. A venerable and sturdy design used by the forces of Terra's North Atlantic Treaty Organization in the mid twentieth century. To him, it had seemed a general's way out. He would not allow himself to be a political cause. Great generals and commanders of men did not allow their name's to become rallying cries or platforms of revolution and politics. They did what they had to do in their own time and then left the battlefield to live out their remaining days. It had become abundantly clear that he would not be allowed such a life. He would never be able to run far enough and fast enough from an impending destiny he did not want to be privy too.

Thus, he prepared himself, ready to accept the 230-grain copper jacketed projectile. It seemed the most rational and kind thing he could do to a humanity that had endured far too much war in the past three hundred years. Each time he had been interrupted before he could carry out the act. He had always done exactly what he felt was just and correct…and the results were usually ghastly. He was tired of people dying for him or because of him. No sane man should ever have as much blood on his hands as he had on his. He never understood why, but he felt guilt about destroying an entire way of life. Perhaps Lincoln Osis had been a mercy killing…but that did not change the guilt that still consumed him about taking the life of a man who was born into a way of life he could not escape just as he had been born into an inescapable way of life. Maybe in his own dying, he could help begin to heal the wounds that seemed to eat away at the very core of humanity.

It had been midnight. In the capital city of Luthien, Coordinator Theodore Kurita was holding a social to celebrate the destruction of the Smoke Jaguars and the success of the great refusal on Strana Mechty. At midnight there had been a promise of fireworks. Victor took this chance to excuse himself and return to his quarters in the palace, intent on completing the act while the din of the fireworks would drown out the sound of the handgun. There he stood, in the shower stall, the barrel of the weapon pressed under his right eye, the hammer back and a round chambered. He had closed his eyes and was taking up the slack on the trigger, preparing for the moment when the trigger would break and the firing pin would strike the primer on the brass casing.

"Victor? Victor, I have something to tell you."

Over the crackle of the fireworks outside he heard Omi's voice. He knew he could not kill himself in front of her; he could not let her be the one to find him. He eased the hammer back and hid the weapon behind his back as he had quickly stepped out of the stall.

Her revelation took the desire to die from him. She was pregnant, with his child.

Even now, he had the child propped carefully against his chest and shoulder, tapping and rubbing his back gently to force any air from his tiny stomach. The child made small burping noises. There was no mistaking it; he loved Omi, but it was this boy who had saved his life. After a few more minutes of gently tending to his boy's burping, the infant fell asleep and Victor placed him carefully back into the crib from which he had lifted him. It was 0412; there was no way he was going to be able to get any more sleep.

Quietly, he crossed into his room where Omi still lay sleeping and began to dress for the inspection. She lay on her side, covered by a large comforter, she looked peaceful, and part of him damned himself for not damning the political repercussions of marrying her. He knew the complications extended beyond the Draconis March and into Theodore's own realm where the potential of a Kurita-Steiner-Davion heir to the dragon's throne would likely send the nation into civil war. For this reason the two denied themselves the comfort that the marriage vow would bring them. Though he would never be able to adequately explain it, his worst anxiety was always in the early morning. Most seemed to have problems with anxiousness late at night, something to do with the chemical processes associated with natural circadian rhythms. Victor had always figured his anxiety was the result of conditioning. Morning usually brought the promise of battle. Battle brought the promise of death.

As he pulled on his boots Omi stirred. Tukkayid was terribly cold this time of year, much like Tharkad sans the glacial ice and snow that characterized the latter. Under the thick comforter, Omi looked decidedly small and fragile under the heap of bedclothes. She squinted at him, framed as he was against the light from the washroom. She mumbled something then flipped back onto her side away from the light.

"Omaesan nanitozo, hineru."

Victor stepped down, forcing his foot the rest of the way into the boot and reached into the washroom, flipping the light off.

"Sorry."

In darkness, Victor laced up the heavy canvas sided combat boots he had begun wearing as of late. He wanted to feel more like a soldier and less like an entitled heir who had the universe presented with all the accoutrements and frivolities that his pedigree usually entailed. Before leaving he went to the closet and pulled out a heavy parka. It was doubtlessly far below freezing outside, and he mentally gelled himself for the ordeal of stepping outside.

It didn't work

Victor swore as the cold hit him and chewed right through his clothes.

"Tis'a fine'en blustery marnin' ey boyo?"

The thick brogue was instantly recognizable. Demi-Precenter III Paul MacConmara stood by the door, his back pressed against the wall. The tall, burly, infantry commander had an odd way of showing up just outside a door whenever something concerned him.

"Whatever you say, you Corky bastard."

The older Irishman chuckled.

"So, where'dya pet elemental get'ta?"

Victor shrugged, adjusting his parka and pulling up the hood, trying to protect his ears against the gnawing wind-chill. Usually Tiaret was the first person up, followed shortly by MacConmara, and finally by Jerry Cranston. Victor's position as Precentor-Martial and, consequently, command of the SLDF conferred the privilege of being the last to be expected to rise and prepare for an event or review.

"Tiarret took off the bell I put around her neck a long time ago."

There was a strange sort of rivalry and mutual admiration between the young elemental and the old Irish grunt. They were both masters in their respective fields in the arts of foot-soldiery and each was trying to stab into the territory of the other. Paul was trying to get together a crack unit of battle-armored troops while Tiaret was focusing on trying to determine how an elemental training regimen would benefit conventional infantry and vice-versa. There were times that Victor swore he felt like a parent trying to mediate a dispute between two children trying to determine which one the parent loved more. It had become more than a bit ridiculous, but it served as a mild and amusing diversion at times. As close as the headquarters were to the Focht War College, comic high jinx had become a staple of the rivalry as of late. It was something to do now that it appeared that conflict would be a non-issue for the units of the 12th Army. Since the great refusal, there had not been a peep out of the clans with the exception of some infighting, mostly among the Ghost Bears and Wolves and the newly arrived home clan the Hell's Horses who were granted a cordon in the Wolf Invasion Corridor and who were, from what Comstar had been able to gather, perennial enemies of the Bears.

"Let's'a see if'n Jerr is'n th'know bout th'big'lass."

"He would be the one to know. Can't keep anything hidden from him."

Jerrard Cranston stepped from around the side of the Victor's quarters at a brisk pace. His gait indicated that he had not been hiding there, but rather come from over near the officer's mess. Victor's quarters were big, as befitted his rank as Precentor Martial. Situated as they were, up on a hill, he could see majority of the base and parts of the Focht War College from the vantage point. The construction was utilitarian and perhaps even a bit Spartan by the standards of New Avalon, Tharkad, or even the Head Quarters building, but it was a comfortable house that suited his single life well and provided for a cozy family environment when Omi and Kitsune were visiting from Luthien. Jerry approached and planted his feet on the concrete porch, standing with his perpetually bemused "I know something you don't" look and held a steaming mug in his gloved left hand taking slow sips from it.

"Did someone use my name in vain?"

Victor grinned at his friend; at his wry sense of humor and the casual way he conducted himself. Jerry was all business, but you wouldn't know it to look at him.

"Jerr, where's th'big lass?"

Cranston nodded as he took another sip from the liquid in the mug.

"Mmmm, that's right…last night…drinking contest versus a group of plebes from FWC."

MacConmara let out a hearty belly laugh, Victor, on the other hand, just stood there with a stunned expression on his face.

"Jerry, please tell me you are joking."

"Fraid not Vic. It looks like Kentares, the Morning after, in there."

The Irishman laughed harder at the off-color joke referring to the infamous Kentares IV massacre initiated by the Draconis Combine's house Kurita during the succession wars era. It was a very "Jerry" type of Joke. He never would have said it in mixed company, but owing to the fact that there were no Dracs present, he felt no qualms about saying it.

In his mind, visions of dozens of freshmen sprawled over furniture and on the floor with sundry bottles cans, and fast food containers littering the scene began to take form. Victor shook his head, fighting hard, and subsequently failing, against a smile spreading across his face. The situation was funny, no doubt about it but at the same time, it presented certain concerns that were of great import.

"Jerry, she didn't go to bed with any of them did she?"

Owing to clan sexual practices, Victor became concerned. A drunk Tiaret might decide she wanted a little action and having an officer in his command sleeping with Freshmen would be a serious issue for both the garrison and the Focht War College.

"No, no…I already checked on that. After she drunk them under the table, literally in some cases, she went back to her quarters."

MacConmara was just finally recovering from his fits of mirth and was wiping a tear from his right eye.

"If'n she t'was drunk e'no to bed'a plebe, she'da gan thro aboo' ten'a'them, boyo!"

Victor grimaced at the thought, "Oh God…"

Jerry snickered into his mug. "I believe she is still in her quarters, what she did BEFORE getting there…well…the Jury is still out."

Victor's face reddened further. It was already flushed from the cold, but now it was positively red. Victor imagined he looked the way his brother Peter usually did when he got mad, which was frequently if his memory served.

"Well, lets see if she is still in her quarters." Victor growled.

They walked slowly down the long sloping driveway to avoid any ice that may have formed. Reaching the foot of the hill, the turned abruptly northeast and began walking to where Tiaret was quartered. As the trio trudged the half kilometer to Tiaret's quarters, Paul and Jerry chatted and joked. Victor just glowered. He wasn't really mad at the elemental per-se… but he had expected better judgment out of her. Drinking with Plebes was not exactly the type of behavior officers should be engaging in, much less in their barracks on campus. AS they got closer, they began seeing huge divots in the ground made by boots. It was apparent that she had staggered back to her quarters, her 209 kilograms had done a number on the frozen earth as she had fought her own rebelling sense of balance back to the small building. When they reached the utilitarian structure that served as individual officer quarters, Victor tried the door. It was unlocked. Entering the found a pair of muddy boots lying hap-hazzardly near the door. Further into the foyer they found a pair of trousers. They were huge and cut in female fashion…so at least she hadn't brought someone home with her. On the seat of the pants mud stains seemed to indicate that she had fallen on her posterior at least once. Next they found a uniform jacket and shirt. Both were impossibly large, indicating they belonged to Tiaret. Still, the worry that he might round the corner and find two naked bodies entwined in the aftermath of drunken coitus bothered Victor. He was not sure he would ever be able to look at Tiaret the same way again if he caught her in, or just after, "the act."

Entering the main room they found nothing, but looking over to the bedroom they noticed where the door had been shut part way. Victor and MacConmara froze in indecision. One did not just simply walk into the bedroom of a woman you were not intimate with. Jerry seemed oblivious to the obvious ban etiquette had placed and strode confidently to the door, pushing it open. After a moment of surveilling the room, Jerry made the quick triple-pat gesture ordering quiet then motioned the other two forward. Victor and Paul crept towards the room and looked in. There, sprawled part way across the bed was Tiaret. Her right leg was hanging off the side and her left was part way under the hap-hazzardly spread covers, her large foot sticking out of the bottom. She wasn't exactly snoring, but rather drawing breath through her mouth, it created a raspy sound as it passed her soft palette creating a sound similar to snoring but still with a hint of femininity. She had let her hair grow out since returning from Huntress, which she usually kept up in a tight bun. Right then, however, it was spread out in a messy mop across the pillow on which her head rested in an awkward half way on and half way off position. Victor turned to his right as he heard shuffling to see MacConmara enter the room with a signal bugle. It was an antique compulsion purchase Tiaret had made some three months earlier. The Irishman gave a devious grin and whispered.

"Let's' see'n if I still rem'mb'r how ta'pley."

Taking a deep breath, MacConmara pressed the bugle to his lips and let out the first shrill notes of "assembly."

"Wake up! Wake up!!"

Tiaret let out a cry of alarm and aggression…apparently believing the garrison was under attack. She fell out of the bed in a jumble of bedclothes and her own long, muscular limbs. Paul played through "assembly" a second time and started a third cadence as Tiaret struggled on the floor in the mess of sheets.

Cranston was laughing whole-heartedly at their mischief as the elemental swore trying to pull the sheets that had wrapped around her free.

Victor grinned in spite of himself, it was truly funny to behold. Elementals were noted for their physical prowess and perception. In most situations, Tiaret could have incapacitated the two mechwarriors in less than fifteen seconds, MacConmara might take her longer, but their numbers would have almost instantly been dropped down to a one on one. Paul let the last notes of the bugle call sound then lower the bugle to his side, a huge grin dominating his face; not just at the mess Tiaret was in, but also from remembering how to play the call.

Tiaret looked up blearily and focused on Victor's face. Upon recognition a pleased smile spread across her face. Victor couldn't help but brighten to the smiling face, his attempts to appear dour immediately failed and all he could manage was to cock his left eyebrow at her. The effect of this was that Tiaret began to giggle uncontrollably. She was still, obviously, drunk. The giggles quickly subsided and she blanched, her nostrils flaring and her mouth opening as if some great internal conflict was waging in her body. Dashing forward she pushed past Victor and Paul and made it into the bathroom just in time to release the first surge from her stomach. On her knees, doubled over the toilet the contents of her stomach erupted forth spewing from her mouth. Victor was immediately greeted by the smell of bile and alcohol. Stepping into the small bathroom next to her he pulled her hair away from her face as her body heaved as emesis occurred again. Her powerful hands gripped the edge of the bowl as she expelled the fluids in her stomach. The sound was decidedly pathetic…that was to say, nothing like Tiaret.

Victor found he sometimes had a hard time viewing clanners as human. Their culture, their values, indeed their very appearance was often so diametrically different from anything he had experienced in the inner sphere that he often viewed them as aliens rather than human beings. Tiaret often helped reinforce that perception with her cold brusque nature and her immense physical size. Despite the fact that her bicep was larger in diameter than Victor's thigh, there was something very human seeming about her bent over the toilet vomiting her toenails up. It was also, strange, as it may seem, the most feminine she had ever sounded. Usually her voice carried a sound of military precision and subtle threat that made even the most seasoned veterans uneasy. Gagging and heaving as she was, she was not able to paint the sounds coming from her with a veneer of elemental surliness; the result was she sounded like the young woman she was.

MacConmara walked into the bathroom holding a glass of water from the kitchen.

"'Ere lassy, rinse'ye moo'out'ith this."

Before she could comply her chest heaved again and she expelled more of the vile brew in her stomach. She sat there, doubled over, her arms resting across the back of the bowl, her body shaking with each breath she drew in. Jerry walked over to the sink and began to wet a washrag so she could wipe her face off. Victor sat on the floor next to her, rubbing her back as she shuddered.

"Are you okay?"

She looked at him, weakly. She spat into the toilet and reached up, flushing it.

"You should have seen the other guys." The voice came forth between ragged gasps, but there was an edge of defiance that could not help but force a reluctant grin from Victor.

The weathered Irish infantry commander let out a belly laugh.

"Tha's tha spirit!"

Tiaret sat back, plopping herself down on her posterior, accepting the water from MacConmara and the washrag from Cranston. She took a healthy swig of the water and swished it around in her mouth, promptly spitting it into the toilet then wiping her mouth off with the rag. She reached over, past Victor, and pawed at the toilet paper roll, tearing off the sheets she blew her nose into the tissue. She threw the wadded up bath tissue in the toilet and took another swig of water which she swished then spit into the toilet right after the paper.

"I have preserved the honor of the Star League Defense Forces on Tukayid…and on that note, I will NEVER do that again." Her composure had returned.

"'Oow much'n did'ya drink?"

"I lost track after the fifth bottle."

Jerry folded his arms and gave her a disparaging look, "Five beers had you that torn up?"

"It was bourbon." She fired back, her eyes narrowed.

"Whall…that explan's that, ey boyo?"

Tiaret stood unsteadily. Reaching into the shower she turned the water on. Without a word of warning she began peeling off her undergarments. The three men instinctively turned away, averting their eyes. Yet another thing Victor was not accustomed to about clanners.

Tiaret chuckled, "You sphereians are such prudes."

"Make it snappy Tiaret, the review starts in forty five minutes." Victor replied.

"Yes, my Khan." She shot back in a teasing tone.

* * *

The review had taken less than thirty minutes. The socializing afterwards had run for the better part of three hours. Victor had found a reason to excuse himself and was sitting in his office when the knock came at the door. He was hoping it wasn't someone looking for him with the intent of dragging him back to the reception. It was the type of gathering that had defined Lyran "Social" Generals and he had believed the SLDF would be immune to. He had been a little dismayed to find out that it was not true…but staff officers throughout history had always been wont to meet and socialize for no real reason other than establishing connections with one another they could utilize later on in their career. Victor immediately sat up and began rummaging through papers.

"Enter."

Colonel Andrew Redburn, Jerry Cranston, Tiaret Nevverson, and Star Captain Niles Lossey stepped into the room.

Victor looked at the group of people with mild incredulity, "Should I have instituted a cover charge?"

Tiaret and Redburn immediately crossed to the couch in the corner of the large office and seated themselves.

The Nova Cat Star Captain seemed satisfied to stand, preferring to the view the office as a haven from the social. Niles Lossey was tall, as were most clan warriors with a pronounced chin and deeply tanned skin setting off his prematurely white hair. He held himself with a grace that almost bespoke royal blood. He looked around the room inquisitively. The movement was almost bird-like being punctuated by quick movements of his head, his expression was at once regal almost to the point of being condescending and also fascinated. He was commander of a trinary Khan West had sent to Tukayid to act as a Nova Cat attaché to the SLDF headquarters. Victor found the man to be pleasant enough with a penchant for the visual arts and a very meticulous nature.

Jerry had already crossed over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a scotch, which he promptly put away with a single gulp then poured another in the glass before walking over to where Tiaret and Andrew were sitting.

"Drink, Tiaret?"

She narrowed her eyes at Cranston, "Jerry, do not make me kill you."

Victor chuckled as Jerry gave her a wry smile. He downed the drink and held the glass between his fingers.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist."

"I bet you couldn't." She deliberately let the contraction in, almost smiling back at him with a predatory look that befit her clan of origin's namesake.

Andrew Redburn looked confused but there was amusement on his face.

"What did I miss?"

"Ms. Nevverson drank the plebes at Focht under the table last night, but at a cost."

Tiaret shuddered, "It was a pyrrhic victory. I won the battle but lost the war."

"Oh, okay…I think I follow. We had something like that at Warrior's Hall on New Syrtis. We always used Soju…what did they have you drinking?"

Tiaret seemed to hold back a wave of nausea, "Bourbon…"

Before Reburn could speak again there was another knock at the door.

"Enter."

An adept I-Alpha entered the room. He seemed agitated.

"Yes, adept, what is it?" Victor asked in a calm yet commanding voice.

"Sir, we just had a Clan Wolf jumpship broadcasting a beam of neutrality enter the system, the commander of the Wolf forces on board is respectfully requesting to speak with you, sir."

Eyes met one another and darted around the room. Expressions were universally concerned with the apprehension edged by a layer of curiosity.

"Respectfully?"

The Adept nodded, "Yes, Precentor-Martial…he did say 'respectfully'."

Victor leaned back in his chair folding his arms, contemplating for a moment. This was indeed a strange event. Was this unit intent on defecting? Seeking some way to reach their exiled brethren under Phelen Kell. Perhaps this was a challenge of some sort. Regardless, it would be best to hear them out and establish their reason for being in system before word of this reached the KungsArmé and they sent forces to attack the Jumpship.

"Have the transmission forwarded to me here in my office."

"At once, sir."

The adept turned and walked quickly from the room. Cranston looked at Victor with concern on his face.

"Vic, is this a good…"

"I'm going to hear him out Jerry…there isn't anyone in this room I would be concerned about hearing the transmission." With those words he looked to Star Captain Lossey who bowed his head in a gesture of appreciation at the Precentor-Martials trust.

The flat-screen monitor on Victor's desk flashed a ComStar insignia then the image changed to an image of a Wolf Warrior. He had chiseled Caucasoid and while the screen only showed him from the shoulders up Victor could tell that he was of the mechwarrior phenotype. The neck of his tunic was wreathed in white fur and from the insignias on the shoulders Victor could see that he was a Star Colonel.

"Precentor-Martial Victor Davion, I bring you greetings from Khan Vladmir Ward. I am Star Colonel Giorgy Shaw. I request permission to land at once of your facilities. My beam of neutrality has been broadcast as a display of our lack of hostility."

The fact that he had used Victor's surname was a sign of either great respect or extreme obsequeence.

"It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Star Colonel Shaw. We will honor your beam of neutrality and will send escorts to ensure your safe passage. May I inquire of the nature of your visit?"

The trueborn warrior bowed his head slightly, "I regret I am forbidden of speaking of such matters over open communication channels, Precentor Martial Davion, but I can say that I bring you a request from Khan Ward himself."

Victor nodded slowly, "I understand, we will have air assets to you shortly. We will also send a ship to ensure your Jumpship is not left unprotected."

Shaw bowed his head once again, "You have my gratitude Victor Davion. I anticipate our meeting."

The transmission ended and Victor leaned back into his chair again. All eyes were on him; the faces ran the gamut from shock to concern. He was similarly confused. He could not even begin to fathom the significance of the contact and what portent it had.

Niles Lossey was the first to speak.

"Well Precentor Martial, he really…" he paused if it looking for the words, "kissed your ass?"

"I do not like this Victor, they are up to something." Tiaret was positively bristling.

"I am going to hear him out Tiaret."

Cranston piped up, "Yeah, you should do that Victor…but what on earth could get them to come here and want to speak with you?"

Tiaret had stood and was now pacing about the room in obvious agitation. Jerry Cranston was even now pouring himself another scotch, which would almost without doubt be followed by another. Andrew Blackburn was, like his fellow Mechwarrior Star Captain Lossey, the only one who seemed calm. A looked of amusement began to spread across his face until he finally spoke.

"Well Victor, maybe Vlad drew you for Secret Santa this year."

Victor had risen and walked over to pour himself a drink. Standing next to Cranston he turned to look over at Andrew and raised his glass.

"Here is to hoping."

He downed the contents of the glass in one swift motion and set the glass top down on the cabinet.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: 

If it doesn't appear in a source book or authorized publication, it's my intellectual property. Everything else belongs to Wizkids and/or Fanpro or contractual agents there-of. © 2001-2007 FanPro, LLC. © 2001-2007 WizKids, Inc.  
MechWarrior, BattleMech, 'Mech and AeroTech are registered trademarks of WizKids, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

All refrences to the Clans, Star League, as Well as specific Historical characters is done under the provision that the author will not profit from their use.

The author has not received fiscal (either monetary or in the form of services) compensation for the creation and publication of this piece. Attempts to solicit the author for rights to the text, characters, or ideas contained here-in will be considered as constituting a breach of the user agreement and will be immediately reported.

* * *

**Battletech: Resistance**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Camp Borte

Sudaten

Jade Falcon Occupation Zone

December 13, 3061

18:13 GST

"I would give my right arm." What a strange phrase. For a right handed individual, this concept would result in virtual paralysis. Horse could not begin to imagine what he would do without his right arm. The fact that words had come from Star Commander Marx Icaza a mere two days after losing his right arm was mind-boggling to Horse. Of course, the drugs he was on for pain probably kept the elemental from recognizing the significance of the words when he uttered them. Bogged down as he was in paperwork and matters of logistics, he had sent elementals from Trinary Alpha to find out what the stricken Star Commander wanted, what comforts they could bring him in the wake of his horrifying injuries.

"What stravag type of inefficient stravag system is this stravag thing?"

"Do you feel better now Joanna?"

"No, not really."

Horse sighed as they continued to walk. "Joanna, it is prepared in that fashion because that is the traditional way in which it is done."

Joanna grimaced at the large square box. "If you folded it over, it would take up half the space."

"Then it would be a Calzone and not a Pizza."

"I doubt Marx will care."

"You clearly do not know Marx Icaza well enough then."

Marx Icaza had been in the infirmary for a paltry four days but was already on the mend. It was a miraculous recovery, even by the standards of clan medicine and elemental resilience. Horse had not seen him, he was to busy absorbed in bureaucracy after his mauling of Dirk Helmer. After refusing to enact surkai, he was ordered to put on the Dark Band. This was, however, more an insult to the incensed Yesuki Shambag than to Horse as Rozendo Hazen had ordered Horse to keep it on until the end of the week. The interesting part of this decision was that it was already 22:54 on a Sunday night and the week would be ending in a little over an hour. To further compound the insult, Hazen had then ordered Horse to remain in the office and have drinks with him. That had lasted for an hour and thirty-eight minutes, at which point, Hazen ordered Horse to remove the Dark Band and that he was dismissed.

Entering the Infirmary/Hospital Horse was immediately struck by the sterile chemical odors that always permeated such a place. A single Medtech sat behind a counter on which was a clip board with a paper sign in sheet. The tech didn't look up, but rather proceeded tapping away at a keyboard nonchalantly; it was clearly a spheroid who had been conscripted into the role. Eyes still fixed on the screen, she spoke.

"What seems to be the problem?"

Joanna was fuming, "My legs are blown off you miserable surat! Stand up and do your job!"

The tech shot up out of the chair, a look of horror on her face when she realized that it was a pair of warriors who had entered the building.

"I...I…I'm…s...s…sorry I…just…thought that…"

Horse raised a single calming hand, cutting off her stuttering with the gesture.

"What curtain is Star Commander Marx Icaza in?"

"Curtain five."

Joanna walked past the counter, spearing the tech with a glare as she went. Horse shook his head with a bemused smile. Joanna would never change, that much was a constant that he had grown comfortable with. To misquote the old Terran phrase: there are only three constants in life; death, taxes, and Joanna's bad mood. The way she held the pizza box was like it was some solemn duty, almost as if she was taking a giftake to the sacred repository where it would be committed to the Jade Falcon gene pool. Horse did have to admit that the aroma was enticing. Perhaps he would have to go back into town and get one of these pizzas so he could see what it was like for himself.

Marx Icaza had, of course, been very specific. Of all the warriors in the Irregulars, and Horse was willing to contend the entirety of Gamma, Marx had the greatest degree of refinement. This was an elemental that enjoyed things that seemed out of place for an elemental. Horse had seen Marx in the capital before savoring caviar, viewing native art exhibits, reading books while drinking ridiculously petite cups of coffee. Some even claimed to have heard him play the piano before, ancient music by someone named Gershwin. Unlike other warriors who consumed liquor for the purpose of getting drunk, Marx was apparently a connoisseur of wine and was a local institution at the planetary wine tasting socials and several wineries. While the media was very controlled, local and planetary circulated news periodicals were still published and Marx had been featured a number of times making suggestions regarding particularly exquisite vintages during any given season. In spite of all of this, Marx was a ruthless infantry commander who commanded the troops under him with an iron fist. He did not tolerate anything less than the finest from the trueborns and freeborns under him and as a result, his unit preformed excellently with a degree of consistency that few could match.

Icaza was not a young warrior…certainly he was younger than Horse or Joanna, but at thirty five he was no "spring chicken." Twice he had made the rank of Star Captain and twice had he been demoted to Star Commander after insulting a commanding officer for a lack of foresight and common sense. This unabashed sense of duty to a unit rather than the commanding officer is what had sold the elemental to Horse. He wanted officers who were not afraid to tell him he was wrong when he made a bad decision and owing to Marx Icaza's record, he was just that. He had, however, won his bloodname at a mere twenty six and it was virtually guaranteed that his genes would be accepted into the breeding program. Since winning his bloodname, he had sponsored three applicants for the Icaza bloodname, all of which had succeeded in their quest. This had indicated to Horse that Marx was an excellent judge of ability and character and as such, gave Marx virtual free reign in selecting and assigning the elementals to the Irregulars.

Jonna reached curtain five ahead of Horse who proceeded to slide it away to reveal Marx lying on the bed. Where his right arm and shoulder had been there was nothing except a large iron ball joint with anchoring positions for a prosthetic arm. Around the joint, his flesh was covered in bandages. It was immediately clear they had been forced to cut away a large amount of bone in order to make the shoulder-mount. He looked strangely unbalanced missing one of his huge arms, but his eyes were closed and his face was serene. It took a moment for Horse to realize that he had not died in his sleep but, rather, was listening to music through a pair of small ear buds that he did not notice.

"Marx Icaza!"

His right eye opened, seeing who had dared to interrupt his listening enjoyment.

Upon realizing who it was, he took the ear buds from his ears.

"Star Colonel, Star Captain…I hardly expected to see you here."

Joanna lifted the box, "Behold, your isorla!"

A startled smile crossed the elementals face. "You actually went out to get me a pizza?"

Horse nodded, "You told your men you would give your right arm, seeing as how you already did, I believe you should be justly compensated."

Joanna placed the box on a rolling table and rolled it over to Marx, who opened the box and took a deep breath, savoring the aroma.

"It is Shi-Ka-Go style, just like you like."

"It is Chicago, Joanna." Horse corrected.

"Whatever, it is a silly word."

Marx had been on IV drips for four days now, after the massive surgery the Medics were not entirely sure he should be taking in regular food yet. The nutrients in the IVs would be enough to keep him healthy, but for an elemental who usually had to eat four thousand calories a day to keep their powerful body and swift metabolism going…the sensation of hunger must have been almost unbearable.

Marx lifted a piece of the pizza and took a ginger bite, chewing it slowly. A slow smile spread across his face as he continued his mastication.

"Perfect."

After swallowing he took another bite, larger this time, and proceeded to chew it with the same slow and steady motions he did the first. Horse could only imagine how his taste buds must be exploding at the medley of flavors after having been without food or drink for the better part of a week. After swallowing the second bite he spoke.

"Star Colonel Horse, I was informed that you dealt with Dirk Helmer in a particularly harsh manner, they say you broke his arm, quiaff?"

"Aff, according to the Medics it was a spiral fracture. He should not be using that arm for some time."

Icaza narrowed his eyes; his face bore a cagey look. "I suppose I came out on top then, I will be fitted for a prosthetic before the end of the week. Word is that you maimed him with a substantial degree of acumen, are you sure you do not have elemental blood in you somewhere Star Colonel?"

Joanna crowed at this.

Horse frowned, "Judging from my parents…I would have to say no."

"Oh well, we cannot all be perfect."

Joanna laughed scornfully again. "About as perfect as you can get, for a freebirth."

Marx ignored the comment, "So, what was the final performance evaluation?"

Horse began pulling at his beard, "It was not quite the route we had hoped for, but the Zeta cluster was considered to have been solidly defeated, we had a little less than two stars worth of casualties, the rotating flanks and the hidden infantry was highly successful…again. Rozendo Hazen is prepared to recommend we receive a fourth trinary to bring us in line with a full strength cluster on paper and to give us an active reserve in our flanking maneuvers."

"That got me thinking Star Colonel, if it would be possible, we might want to try to appropriate some fast vehicles with which we can move some of our elemental assets more quickly and thereby create a fast moving special purpose head hunter unit."

"That could be something to do with a fourth trinary. A special purpose trinary of infiltrators might be conducive to the special warfare operations."

Joanna turned and walked off for a moment, occupying herself with looking at various items in the infirmary. She was clearly not interested in conversations over logistics and strategic forward planning. This presented Horse the opportunity he had been waiting for. Reaching into a pocket in his BDUs he produced an ancient book. It was hard bound, with worn and frayed edges.

"Marx Icaza, you are a man of taste and learned interests, I brought this for you to read, I hope you find it as enjoyable as I have."

Marx Icaza took the book with his one good hand, running his fingers over the cover and along the spine contemplatively. He seemed to be appraising the novel carefully.

"This is quite old."

"The publish date listed inside indicates it was published in 1958."

"Over eleven hundred years…" He ran his fingers across the title page carefully, almost reverently. "Where in Kerensky's name did you find this?"

"Long ago, in a Brian Cache, Aidan Pryde and I found it along with other books."

Marx Icaza nodded appreciatively. "I was never aware that there was such a dimension of depth to freeborns. Forgive me, Star Colonel, but I was always made to believe that freeborns tended to be coarse and superficial. I suppose it is a failing many of we trueborns have…I feel now that I was deprived during my training. Perhaps if more trueborns were exposed to the other facets of the clan earlier on, we would gain a better appreciation of those that comprise the other castes. It has always been the way of the Jade Falcons to view the lower castes as vital to our existence, but…perhaps, if we had a greater exposure to the other facets of clan life, we would learn to be better stewards of the clan. But then again, freeborns seem to prove with consistency that they make fine warriors as well, quiaff?"

Horse was shocked by the frankness of the elemental. He had always felt that Marx Icaza viewed him as inferior by merit of his birth. It was not an unusual behavior from a trueborn. As proud as he was of his freeborn heritage, Horse always viewed the acceptance of Aidan Pryde, Khan Marthe Pryde, and Gisselle as being, in some way, aberrant. Now he was listening to classically superior trueborn speaking words that seemed to be anathema to the composition of the warrior caste. In a way this appraisal, coming as it was from the elemental, seemed a far greater compliment than an honors heaped on him.

"Aff, Marx Icaza…but I think the factor that defines the excellence is being a Jade Falcon. We more than any other have remained true to Nicholas Kerensky's charge…we more than any other have embraced the true way of the clans. It is our destiny to have the finest of all things, quiaff?"

The elemental almost seemed awed to hear what was, largely trueborn exclusive rhetoric coming from the mouth of the freeborn with such conviction and fervor. A pleased smile crossed the elementals face. "Aff, Star Colonel Horse. I fear I have taken up to much of your time…you have my sincerest thanks for the pizza and the…" he tapped the book with his fingers, "I am sure I will find the read most pleasurable. I suppose I had better eat this pizza before a medtech confiscates it for not being approved by the doctor."

Horse nodded sagely, "Aye, they might at that. We hope to see you return soon Star Commander, your presence has been sorely missed. Be well."

"And you as well Star Colonel."

Horse turned and left, Joanna in tow. Leaving the infirmary they began to walk across the parade ground to the bleachers they sat on in the evening, enjoying the sunset and the drop in temperature. Their relationship was almost sibling in nature, or that of old married people. Horse's parents had behaved in this fashion. Far past the physical intimacy that dominated youthful relationships, they were more friends than lovers. In this way, Horse viewed Joanna as his closest living friend… even if she was loath to admit that she viewed him as a friend.

"So, which of those stravag books did you give him?"

"The Grapes of Wrath, it is an interesting tale of those displaced by a great social, ecological, and economic crisis. It is a tale of overcoming opposition and resisting the broad injustices levied against a people."

"Sounds like the story of your life." Joanna's voice softened.

"I never really thought of it that way."

"Well, no matter…seven of the Zeta mechwarriors and eighteen of their elementals have submitted requests to transfer to the Irregulars."

"Really? So our exploits made it back to them already?"

"They are not freeborns Horse; they were among the warriors we defeated in the exercise."

The freeborn warrior began tugging at his beard, the thick facial hair just managing to obscure the signs of satisfaction on his face. "Yesuki Shambag will be quite incensed by this."

"To hell with that bitch…she is not worth the vat that spawned her." Joanna spat on the ground, codifying her curse.

They approached the bleachers and walked up the short few steps before sitting. At the far end of the parade field the elementals of Gisselle's Trinary Charlie were performing their evening formation and calisthenics. The evening was delightful. A slight breeze out of the south west rustled the grass and leaves as the sun set in the direction of the Capital. The air was clean the scent on the wind hinting at a blustery night and clear skies. Horse leaned back; watching at the seventy five elementals executed stretching exercises and did jumping jacks.

"So Joanna, who do you think should take over for Trinary Delta when it gets created and assigned?"

"Well, you could always relinquish command to me and take over Delta…"

Horse cut eyes over at her, a sour expression on his face.

"…Or not…it was just a suggestion."

"In all seriousness, Joanna."

"Well…" she exhaled sharply, "I suppose it depends on how we are going to comprise the unit. For head hunters I would say Marx Icaza or perhaps point commander Nikopol. For a direct fire assault support unit…Barnard or Sanford Christu. I'm not sure what we would be looking at for a third star."

"I am toying with the idea of a mixed indirect fire nova."

"Four hueys, three missile boats, and perhaps mounted elementals for security?"

"Yes, that is more or less what I had in mind."

"Mobility will be an issue…"

Horse screwed up his face into a contemplative mask, "We could always detach that star and let it be placed and operate independently of the rest of the trinary."

"That is true."

"I would like to keep us mobile…but with our TO&E, I cannot deny how beneficial an artillery nova could be. It would help a great deal in bringing enemy forces into our rotating flank formations, boxing them in with an artillery grid. The direct fire nova could also do a wonderful job in acting as a stop-gap; forcing an enemy to try to break through the main lines to escape."

Joanna grunted, "Maybe we should talk Rozendo Hazen into adding two trinaries then."

"I would not want to sound like I was pushing our luck."

"Why not, you push everything else."

"I most certainly do not!" Horse protested.

"Horse, I am old enough not to care anymore, but you have to admit, you are something of a fluke."

"Fluke?"

"We Falcons believe in making the most of everything, never wasting. What is the saying…waste not, want not? But even in this clan, a freebirth as a front line commander…it is definitely not anywhere near the norm, quiaff?"

Horse shrugged, there was logic to what Joanna was saying…had he not had the background he had, had he not been the friend and confidant of Aidan Pryde, he most certainly would not be where he was now.

"Aff, you are correct Joanna. I am definitely not indicative of the status quo."

"That is not what I meant…you are becoming the status quo. The number of freeborn warriors in the clan has more than quadrupled since the refusal war and more and more freebirths are making their way into front line units. In their defense they have performed at a level that would be expected of any front line warrior…but among crusaders as ardent as we are…it just seems, strange."

"What is eating you Joanna?"

"Nothing I would hope."

Horse laughed, "It is an old expression, it means, what is bothering you?"

"Well…the Irregulars were formed to be a freebirth unit, quiaff?"

"Aff."

"And currently your unit consists of both frees and trues, quiaff?"

"Aff."

"Since we have proven that we can work so well together, are we not at risk of growing to comfortable with this type of integration? Is it not possible that we will begin to believe that the ways of the clan are obsolete and we should join our backwards Inner Sphere cousins? Is it not possible that soon there will be no need for a clan at all?"

"That would be a negative on all parts Joanna."

"Explain your reasoning."

Horse sighed then folded his arms across his chest. "Let us just look at the example of recent events in the Inner Sphere. Victor Davion undertook a campaign to destroy the Smoke Jaguars and stop the invasion. It was a mighty task and required great courage, quiaff?"

Joanna made a sound of derision.

"I do not like him either Joanna, but you can see that it was an achievement of merit, quiaff?"

"Aff…I suppose aff. I just despise that surat, it is a shame we did not capture him on Trellwan, then it would likely be him sitting here next to you."

"Yes, he would have been good for our clan, but he seems to be of strong character and I do not think he could have been manipulated in the same manner that slime Phelan of the wolves was. But back to the point at hand; Victor was fighting not just for himself, but for the entire Inner Sphere. The realm his sister supplanted from his control was at risk of invasion by our forces and those of the Wolves went the truce ended, yet he fought in her stead to secure its protection. What happened to him? He returned to find his realm stolen from him. We cannot and will not ever support or tolerate that type of behavior…that is why we will NEVER allow ourselves to forget who we are no matter how many frees or trues we have."

"I concede the point."

"Concession from Joanna? Hell must be freezing over."

"Shut up stravag!"

Horse chuckled, "Don't you have some KP duty to attend to?"

Joanna shouted in indignation, "My KP duty ended a week ago you surat!"

"I know, I know, you are just funny to watch when you are angry."

"Surat…" Joanna mumbled

They sat in silence for a moment watching the elementals continuing in their drill. They moved with precision and grace. It was inspiring in a way to see the warriors taking such diligence in their every day drill despite the protracted calm that had settled in the occupation zone. It reminded Horse that they were still warriors, even if there presently no enemy to make war with.

Joanna spoke up first, "Tell me Horse…why did you never sire any children?"

Horse started, almost falling off his seat on the bleachers.

"What?" His voice was laden with shock.

"Why did you never sire any children?" She repeated the question, seeming to be in disbelief that he had not heard her.

"It was my understanding that warriors, much less trueborns, found such matters in poor taste."

Joanna made a dismissive gesture. "I am too old to find much of anything not directly aimed at me offensive these days. So, what is your answer?"

"Joanna, it is not the warrior way to have children."

"Certainly it is; where do you think Trueborns come from?"

"That is different. To make the comparison is obscene…you of all people should know that." Horse was surprised to find himself so indignant about the subject.

"Aidan Pryde sired a daughter, and she grew to become on of the greatest warriors we have seen."

"A freeborn, born of two trueborns…almost trueborn herself…that is completely different."

"You are a warrior…you have proven that your genes are sound…would not your progeny inherit your skill, your physical ability?"

"I cannot mate with myself Joanna."

"What of Pegeen? She is a warrior quiaff? Her skills as a mechwarrior are substantial…if you were to breed with her, the children would likely become warriors owing to their parentage."

"I find myself strongly in doubt that Pegeen would be eager to produce any children."

"I suppose that is a point." A second concession from Joanna in ten minutes.

"So, what is this sudden morbid fascination with my line of decedents, Joanna?"

The older warrior paused, thinking for a moment. "I guess since I never achieved my bloodname I am living vicariously."

"That does not technically exclude you from contributing to the gene pool."

Joanna cackled, "Maybe not, but all I would ever be able to contribute is a non-bloodnamed sample for use as the 'male' gamete and then likely only in some study by the scientist caste."

"It is better than nothing."

"That is highly subjective. Then again, they will probably do the same to you."

"Joanna, do you need to go to the infirmary? I think you might be heat addled."

"On Huntress, did not Sentinia Buhalin challenge the Jaguar commander to a trial of possession for your giftake?"

"A clever manipulation of protocol for the purpose of getting me away from them." Horse replied, trying to defuse the bomb this conversation was becoming.

"But, never the less, it was a trial over your genetic heritage, quiaff?"

"Aff."

Joanna spread her hands, "Well, there you have it…the clan is honor bound now to accept your genes into the breeding program. Unbloodnamed male gamete that it may be, we cannot show ourselves to flaunt the rules of the system of trials to our own ends."

Horse blanched, "Who did you talk to? Why are you saying all this?"

Joanna sighed, her shoulders sagged. She looked as if she was betraying Horse somehow and a burden of guilt had just been dropped on her.

"Marthe Pryde spoke to me on this matter. Since I know you better than any other living person right now, she deemed it appropriate for me to speak with you about this. Your giftake is to be accepted into our gene pool, but since you are freeborn, and therefore ineligible for either a bloodname or all the privileges accorded a trueborn…she wanted your approval in spirit if not in word."

The bomb had gone off. Horse's mind reeled at the ramifications of this recent revelation. He did not want to contribute to the genepool. Up until now he had taken comfort in the knowledge that he never would have too, that his genes would be lost when his body was rendered to ashes. Now he had to face the very real potential that he would some day serve with his own trueborn progeny. His head was spinning, trying to take it all in at once.

"What…what if I say no?"

Joanna tensed, as if waiting for a blow to fall, "They have already combined your DNA with that of another warrior as part of a test sibko. Scientist Peri is overseeing the project."

The decision was out of Horse's hands now. The die had been cast; nothing could be accomplished by him protesting now. It was in his best interests to go along with it, use the situation to garner more prestige and enlarge his unit. A decision had been made for what was believed to be the good of the clan, now he could use it to further his goals of bettering the clan. He could count on many trials of refusal and grievance in the coming weeks and years, but he would meet and face them all…even if it killed him. He knew Joanna felt like she had somehow betrayed him, he did not hold her responsible, and part of him wrestled with the idea of using those feelings of guilt…but that was petty and to much the kind of think an egotistical trueborn would do. No, he would let her _feel_ guilty but he was not going to profit from it.

"Well, what has been done has been done…let us go get something to eat Joanna, I am hungry."

Joanna turned to look at him, incredulity on her face, as if she was expecting him to strike her as punishment for her subterfuge. "You are not angry?"

Horse shrugged, he was, just a little, but he was not going to let it show, "No, what reason is there for me to be?"

"I thought…"

"You thought on an empty stomach, and we all know the brain works better on fuel…let us go and grab a bite before you start trying to think too much."

Joanna stood, seeming to be relieved that Horse was not enraged with her, "Whatever you say, Star Colonel."

* * *

Psi Galaxy Headquarters 

Huntress

Kerensky Cluster

December 13, 3061

07:13 GST

"Who are you calling a surat, freebirth?"

Tech Jefferson stood in front of the Jaguar warrior, his tray laying on the floor of the mess hall, the warrior had knocked it out of his hand while passing. In retrospect, he realized he should not have said anything, but part of him remembered his days as a warrior prior to the disbanding of all freeborn Jaguar units after the disaster at Luthien. He didn't look the warrior in the eye, but rather just stared past his shoulder at the wall.

"I said…who are you calling a surat, freebirth." The warrior almost hissed the hate epitaph this time.

Part of Jefferson considered saying that he had called no one a surat, that he just found the word to be a more appropriate swear for a freeborn than stravag. That part of him was the side that was his good judgment…however; it was the warrior part of him that won out.

"I called you a surat."

The sharp sting across his face told him he had been struck before he realized the movement had occurred. Thus was the price for insubordination. He knew, as a tech, he deserved the strike…but the part of him that was still a warrior was angry. It had not been his fault that the Jaguar invasion plan for Luthien had been so horribly faulty. He should still be a warrior himself.

"Now, who did you call a surat?"

Jefferson knew what the warrior wanted him to say, which is why he didn't.

"You."

Jefferson felt the sting again, on the same spot that still burned from the previous blow. He caught speech coming in past the ringing in his ear.

"He is tough for a freebirth. I have seen blows like that rattle brains."

"I wonder if he means to fight Murchen?"

"He will be brought up on charges if he does."

"That is a shame, I want to see a good fight."

To his left, Jefferson heard some of the Jaguar warriors talking. It made him feel good when the one trueborns had called him tough. They apparently wanted to see him fight the mechwarrior, and he was feeling set to oblige them.

"I would not recommend that you strike me again…surat."

Around him, Jefferson heard trueborn warriors making hooting sounds. Clearly amused at the way he had worded the sentence and command in his voice. There was a good chance he would get flogged for this…or maybe worse. But he didn't really care, he was in the limelight again, and it felt good to behave like a warrior for one last time.

"Or what freebirth? You will not fix my mech?"

Jefferson's eyes narrowed, "No…you won't be piloting one to need repairs on."

This garnered more hoots and jeers. The warriors were clearly being thoroughly entertained. The sounds in the mess hall promptly died down anticipating the next exchange. He would be shot for this…no doubt about it, but it would be worth it. He already knew he had this battle won in the mind if not quite in the body. With that much going for him, he knew he could not lose.

Without so much as a word, the trueborn mechwarrior Murchen, swung his left fist in a wide left hook. Jefferson saw the punch coming, the warrior had telegraphed worse than a first day crash-camp cadet. Ducking, Jefferson shot his head up, smashing it into the warriors jaw. Murchen staggered back a step, stunned by the ringing blow. Without pausing, the shorter freeborn shot out his right foot, rotating at his hips as he did and bringing the top of his booted foot in to the side and back of the mechwarrior's knee forcing him to kneel.

Jefferson was short, only 1.8 meters tall, but he weighed in at 89 kilos, most of which was muscle. Others had thought to call him fat when they saw the short broad bodied freeborn, but they usually quickly learned that under the oversized jumpsuit were great bands of thick muscle. He also had heavy hands and when his punches landed; his opponent was usually stunned or injured immediately. Even now, he was shooting one of those deadly fists forward, catching the mechwarrior hard on the chin. The impact forced the lower jaw back, pushing against blood vessels and his wind pipe. The warrior's eyes became unfocused and he stumbled back, falling flat on the floor, staring upwards with a dazed expression. Only then did he become aware of the cheers of the warriors around him, clearly enjoying the fight.

Murchen tried to rise and stumbled, catching himself on one of the tables he tried to lunge forward, only to have his right arm grabbed by the freebirth's vice like grip. He felt himself still coming forward, now being help along by the freeborn pulling at the arm. He suddenly became aware of the tech's knee coming up towards his midsection, but it was too late, before he could counter his gut slammed hard against the freebirth knee and he felt the wind being knocked out of him. Unable to catch his breath or react, he saw the final elbow coming up at his chin. The impact caused lights to explode before his eyes as his ears were filled with the most terrible buzzing he had experienced since he had been first fitted for a neuro-helmet. After that, everything went black.

Star Colonel Sasher Kotare was an old warrior, being well on his way to fifty…but he was by no means a solhoma to old to pilot a mech or command a unit, a fact he reminded the young upstarts under him of, repeatedly. He was watching what had transpired when Mechwarrior Murchen had shoved the tech out of the way and continued to watch as the situation had developed into a fight. He thought the tech was a foolish freebirth for daring insult a trueborn warrior, but had to admire his tenacity and stick-to-it-ness. He was certain the freebirth would be dead in short order which bothered him because he certainly did have Jaguar spirit for having been low born, but this was the way of the clan and if he were to be killed, seyla. He was surprised when the tech quickly gained the upper hand and made a fool out of the warrior and even more surprised when he knocked the boastful Murchen unconscious. Part of him feared that the warriors in the mess-hall would tear him apart but was instead surprised to see them cheering the fight with seeming total disregard for the combatants. Quickly, he stepped in between several of the other warriors and grabbed the tech by the collar, speaking low.

"Come with me tech…"

"Jefferson, sir."

"Come with me tech Jefferson."

Jefferson was about to come around and deck the man who had grabbed his collar but noticed it was Star Colonel Kotare, the commander of the unit whose tech pool he was part of. Kotare was only about three inches taller than Jefferson but he took long strides and Jefferson had to work hard to keep up with the man. He was certain he was about to die and if that was the case he wanted to die with dignity.

"Sir, I know I have committed a crime and should be justly punished, if you will please let me go, I will go to face my death with composure and dignity."

Sasher released the tech and turned him to look him in the face. He laughed, long and hard, something he had not done in a long time. This freebirth behaved like a warrior.

"I am not taking you to your execution Jefferson. I was clearing you from the room before Mechwarrior Murchen got himself in more trouble."

"Sir?"

"He was not going to win that fight no way, no how. He would only have gotten himself progressively more and more injured until he either could not get up any longer or the situation turned into a riot."

"Then can I return to duty, sir?"

"But you have not eaten."

"Respectfully sir, I don't have much of an appetite right now."

Kotare winced at the contraction, a reminder that this man was indeed a freebirth and not a warrior. "I am going to take you to Galaxy Commander Wirth."

Jefferson paled, he lowered his head, "Yes, sir."

"It is this way Jefferson, follow me."

Jefferson followed the Star Colonel, sure that whatever punishment the Galaxy Commander would issue would probably be worse than death. He knew nothing about Aldus Wirth except that he had come from nowhere and was a ruthlessly efficient commander. As he followed Star Colonel Kotare down the long dimly lit hallway, he began to ponder what type of tortures would await him. They reached a door bearing the a plaque that read Galaxy Commander Aldus Wirth, Commanding Officer, Psi Galaxy. Sasher rapped on the door in a quick fashion that did not bear any rhythm but sounded like a bunch of rocks falling on a table.

"Come in."

Sasher opened the door and ushered the tech inside. The room was austere with a desk, lamp, filing cabinets, a computer, three chairs, a table, and a couch. The feint scent of sex lingered in the room over the odor of print toner and various industrial plastics. Aldus Wirth was an intimidating looking man. He was tall, over two meters tall and 122 kilos of bone and muscle. His face was the mystery though…it seemed impassive, almost dull. His eyes seemed to fix on a target with no indication that any thought was occurring at all.

"Star Colonel Kotare, what can I help you with?"

"Tech Jefferson here just finished knocking one of my warriors unconscious."

"I see. Tech Jefferson, would you care to explain your actions."

"Sir, I was responding to his verbal provocation when he attacked me, I knocked him unconscious then."

"I see. What, precisely, is your assignment?"

"I am part of the general tech pool for Trinary Alpha, fifty third Jaguar lancers, sir."

Wirth rested his chin on his intertwined fingers, "Owing to the fact that he is in your unit, what disciplinary action did you have in mind Star Colonel Kotare?"

Sasher narrowed his eyes at the younger Galaxy Commander. "Sir, I would request that tech Jefferson be transferred to a crash stage training sibko with the purpose of seeking a trial of position."

Jefferson balked, unable to hide his shock, "What?!"

"Please be quiet tech Jefferson," Wirth said calmly, "Star Colonel Kotare, are you certain about this?"

"Aye, I witnessed him best a warrior of superior height, weight, and reach after that warrior initiated the attack. I believe this man is worthy of a chance at becoming a warrior."

Jefferson stood mute, but the expression on his face was testament to his surprise.

"Star Colonel…" Wirth began with a slow measured tone, "You are aware that the current touman operation specifications do not allow for freeborns becoming warriors?"

"I am aware of this, sir."

"And you would be willing to fight a trial of refusal or grievance?"

"I would, sir."

"Very well…I shall see about the transfer."

Jefferson raised his head, "Sir…if I may?"

Aldus looked up at the freeborn from behind the desk, "Yes, tech Jefferson?"

"Sir, if I may, I would like to submit my codex. I was once a warrior sir."

Wirth did not look at Jefferson twice, "One of the freebirths disbanded after the disaster at Luthien. Very well, two weeks of summary simulator training should be sufficient preparation, at which time we will have you acting as Opposing Force in cadet trials of position. Based on your performance, you will be reinstated to the warrior caste. Is that all Star Colonel Kotare?"

"No Galaxy Commander, I think that will be all."

Jefferson just stood there, his face still a mask of shock. The way Wirth had been so casual, the sponsorship of Star Colonel Kotare, the chance to return to the caste he had worked so hard to be a part of, the fact it was all because some vat-bastard had knocked over his breakfast. The thrill threatened to make him explode. He wanted to prostrate himself in front of the men and thank them. He wanted to yell at the top of his lungs. He wanted to chop down mountains and pull the sky down around him. As he stood still, he realized that the shock on his face betrayed his excitement.

Sasher Kotare could not help but sympathize with the elation. He remembered the feeling, after winning his own trial of position, gaining his blood name, and working his way up to Star Colonel. He fought hard to keep the smile from his face but was failing.

"You heard the man Jefferson…get your surat freebirth ass to the simulators, double time!"

Jefferson snapped a smart salute, "Sir, yes sir."

As Jefferson left the room, Kotare turned to look at Wirth, giving the younger man a satisfied nod. Kotare saw freebirths as inferiors. He was often annoyed by their mannerisms and behavior, but he could not really hate them. They were, after all, part of the clan and freebirths like Jefferson, who displayed their loyalty by staying even after the rest of the clan fell, deserved a measure of respect and acknowledgement for their service.

"Well Sasher…now you have done it. We will have freebirth warriors coming out of the woodwork."

Sasher was never sure what emotion Aldus Wirth was trying to display. Whether his words were spoken from anger or as a joke was hard to tell as the man always seemed to calm that he was practically comatose.

"More warriors for the touman. A good decision."

"More warriors are always good Sasher. Now we just have to figure out a way to steal more mechs for them."

Sasher grinned, "Well, Star Captain Bal and his trinary are just the ones for that."

Wirth allowed the hint of a smile, "Only if you can convince Dhalia Moon."

Sasher's grin grew, taking on a rakish quality, "I will leave that up to you, old friend."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: 

If it doesn't appear in a source book or authorized publication, it's my intellectual property. Everything else belongs to Wizkids and/or Fanpro or contractual agents there-of. © 2001-2007 FanPro, LLC. © 2001-2007 WizKids, Inc.  
MechWarrior, BattleMech, 'Mech and AeroTech are registered trademarks of WizKids, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

All refrences to the Clans, Star League, as Well as specific Historical characters is done under the provision that the author will not profit from their use.

The author has not received fiscal (either monetary or in the form of services) compensation for the creation and publication of this piece. Attempts to solicit the author for rights to the text, characters, or ideas contained here-in will be considered as constituting a breach of the user agreement and will be immediately reported.

* * *

**Battletech: Resistance**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Tamar City

Tamar

Wolf Occupation Zone

December 23, 3061

0833 GST

Even in the rebuilt city, an oppressive pall seemed to be cast, as if the dead hand of Duke Selvin Kelswa had risen from an unmarked grave and strangled the life from the city. Everywhere he looked, heads were lowered, as if life itself was being sapped from the citizens by the anger of the long dead Duke. It struck Victor that he would probably be the last member of a Steiner or Davion line that would ever see the former Lyran world again. As they made their way down the Fürstlich Strasse, Victor marveled at how well the destroyed city had been rebuilt. Vlad Ward was clearly taking no chances with the Motorcade. The limousine Victor was seated in was heavily armored almost to the point of seeming like a military vehicle itself. In addition, three _Svantovit_ IFVs preceded the limo with two behind, containing a full star of elementals between the five. At intersections, elementals and sometimes mechs had blocked through coming traffic to ensure an uninterrupted procession from the Star Port to the Clan Wolf headquarters. It all seemed too much to Victor…why would Vlad Ward, a man who would just as much prefer to kill Victor than look at him, go to these lengths to bring him to the Wolf Occupation capital and keep him so well protected?

Tiaret Nevverson had insisted that a platoon of her own battle armor troops provide security detail closest to the limo, a request the Wolf planetary commander had dismissed outright informing Tiaret that if she was that concerned about the security she was welcome to ride in the limo with him. The other generals and staff officers invited along with Victor were asked to stay at the drop ship which was being guarded by both a group of four level IIs from the elite Comstar 278th division around the drop ship with an additional two trinaries posted just outside. Victor was sure this was as much as to keep the SLDF forces inside as to keep anyone else outside. The question of what Vlad Ward wanted had dominated Victor's mind ever since the Wolf ship jumped in system over Tukayyid two weeks ago.

"Would you look at that…"

Tiaret's voice snapped Victor back to the present. She had been looking outside the window of the limo the entire trip, watching for any suspicious activity, her hand tight on the grip of the assault rifle she had brought into the car.

Looking out of the window from which Tiaret was looking, Victor spotted the Wolf Headquarters. The building was a cyclopean monstrosity. It existed as some strange merging of a castle, a bunker, and a skyscraper. The base of the structure looked like it could withstand a nuclear detonation and require little maintenance beyond a good scrubbing to remove the carbonization. From the solid bunker base, which must have been a quarter mile across by itself, rose four large rectangular marble structures, larger at the base the narrowed as they went upwards; nestled between them was the mirrored glass of the various offices in the head quarters. The building must have been well over seventy stories tall. On the front face it was adorned with the Wolf Clan crest carved from the same dull earthy gray marble as the rest of the building. The crest itself was easily fifty feet across and was backlit by floodlights that caused it to stand out against the mirrored glass. The building loomed over them as they drew closer casting an ominous shadow. In front of the building was a life-sized statue of a destroyed Atlas…a reminder of what the Duke's folly had wrought. Perhaps it was not Selvin Kelswa that cast this evil spell over Tamar as much as it was this building that seemed to be built over his grave.

The vehicles slowed and stopped in front of the building. Elementals poured out of the IFVs and began establishing a perimeter before one walked over to the limo, rapping on the glass with the manipulator hand. Tiaret rolled down the window, the stock of the assault rifle tight against her shoulder, "Is the area clear?"

Through the external loud speaker the almost mechanical sounding voice of the Wolf infantryman came forth, "Affirmative, status is green, you may exit the vehicle."

Tiarret climbed from the limo first, the stock of the rifle still pressed firmly to her shoulder as she kept the muzzle down. It was clear to Victor that she was ready to fight anything and everything that might possibly mean to do him harm, and while it was a futile gesture as both he and she were unaugmented, it was comforting to know she cared that much about him. Of course, he had to realize that it was probably not so much care for him as much as it was her sense of duty, but at times she seemed to show genuine concern for him as a fellow human being and a friend rather than as her commander and former bond-holder. She scanned the area with eyes that were born of war. It was likely she had more combat experience than these elementals, and it showed in her infantry paranoia. A point of Wolf elementals assembled in front of the door to the limo, taking formation to escort Victor inside. The warriors were discharging their duty well. They seemed similarly ready to take a blast or shot intended for the Precentor Martial and Victor found himself strangely appreciative of this. Tiarret turned to look back in the limo door, catching Victor's eye and gesturing him to come forward.

As Victor stepped from the vehicle, the elementals formed around him and Tiaret, creating a protective wall of metal.

"Please, this way Precentor Martial." The apparent commander spoke through the inhuman sounding vocador. It was a short distance from the limo across the marble plaza to the entrance to the building. Flanking the entrance on either side was a _Timberwolf_ Omnimech, painted in ceremonial colors and buffed to a high shine. Passing the mechs, they marched into the open atrium that acted as the reception area of the building. Heat from subterranean fusion reactors that powered the city was vented up through the floor, creating a comfortably warm atmosphere despite being open to the sub zero temperatures. Victor immediately noticed Vlad Ward standing in the atrium in front of a large marble counter, behind which was a back-lit Wolf Clan emblem. He stood with his feet apart, his fists resting on his hips, looking every bit the part of a clan warrior. His face betrayed little in the way of his emotional state, appearing to be the same sullen way it had looked when he first saw him on Strana Mechty. The elementals parted and allowed Victor and Vlad an unrestricted line of sight on one another.

"Precentor Martial Davion…I am pleased you accepted my invitation."

Victor stepped forward, his hand extended, "It was my privilege to accept Khan Vlad Ward."

Ward accepted the hand and shook it firmly…not in a particularly warm way, but in the manner which two enemies who viewed each other as equals would. It was formal, with a degree of grudging respect and admiration for the other's ability.

"I must ask that Captain Nevverson remain here or in the officer's lounge during the meeting." Vlad did not seem too displeased to be saying this, since he seemed to view Tiaret with a mixed degree of disdain and pity. Victor could see that the clanner in Tiaret wanted to protest the insult, but the SLDF soldier realized that she should comply with the Khan's wishes and not embarrass her commander.

"I shall wait here, Precentor Martial."

"We must also ask you to relinquish your rifle, but you may keep your side arm."

Tiaret caught Victor's eyes, a look of bemusement was present as she took the rifle strap from around her neck and handed the weapon to an awaiting elemental.

"Shall we Precentor Martial?" Vlad extended his hand towards an elevator in the atrium.

"Please, lead the way."

They strode across the marble floor and to the awaiting elevator. The doors were of some material that appeared to be Gold with a large five pointed star adorning them. The doors slid open and Vlad stepped inside, followed by the shorter SLDF officer. As the doors slid shut, Vlad Ward pressed his thumb to a digital scanner and the elevator began to rise.

"My reasons for summoning you here will all become clear in a few moments Victor Davion…let us just say that I am operating as the…what was the word…good offices for another group."

"Good offices? So this is a matter of international law?"

"After a manner of speaking…yes."

"I would assume this involves another clan then."

"Yes, more than one actually. As I said, it will all become clear shortly."

Victor waited in silence as the elevator continued to ascend. Vlad Ward seemed intent on being mysterious. Perhaps this was his attempt to display a flair of the theatrical. It seemed decidedly strange coming from a clanner, but then again, with all their ritual and formalities, they were a bit theatrical as a people.

After a few minutes, the elevator stopped. The door opened and Vlad Ward stepped out, holding his hand over the track of the door as Victor stepped forth. The hallway was short and dominated by a single door. Outside the door, two elementals in dress uniform stood guard with rifles. Vlad turned on his heals and began walking towards the door. Victor followed the trueborn as he approached the door, pausing for the briefest of moments to see where his charge was before opening the door. Vlad threw the doors open and stepped in, standing to the side to allow Victor to pass.

Marthe Pryde looked up to meet Victor's eyes. The look of shock on his face was priceless. Marthe committed his expression to memory knowing it would be the only time she would ever catch the small man at a disadvantage. She was enjoying his discomfiture and smiled softly at him. He quickly composed himself, straightening his jacket and clasping his hands behind his back.

"Khan Pryde, I was not aware you were present on Tamar." Victor spoke calmly.

Vlad Ward interjected. "Allow me to explain Victor Davion. Khan Pryde requested I summon you to Tamar and act as a third party for negotiations."

"What type of negotiations?" Victor's eyes narrowed.

"I can assure you it does not involve the Lyran people, your sister, or the occupation zone, Victor Steiner-Davion." Marthe replied, rising from her seat.

Vlad closed the doors slowly and stepped forward towards the table.

"I think first we should take a moment to establish the nature of this meeting. Victor Davion, Marthe Pryde…the forces of your two peoples have met and fought valiantly against one another on the field of battle many times. However, we meet today not as adversaries, but as mutually interested parties and neighbors. In that tradition of that sort of relationship, let us leave any animosity and feelings of contention at the door."

Marthe was struck by how eloquent Vlad had sounded. She knew the Wolf leader was a charismatic and capable leader, but this was beyond what she had come to expect of him. Perhaps he had memorized the speech; perhaps it had been spur of the moment, regardless she found herself wondering if he would not have been better suited as a Lore Master. Marthe knew that the initiative was hers now. The Jade Falcons had been the aggressor against the Lyran people…Victor's people, thus she should make the show of good faith. Rising from her place she walked around the table to the short man.

"Victor Steiner-Davion, in the tradition of the esteemed Wolf Khan's words, I am pleased to be here."

She extended her hand to him, the ancient symbol of non-hostility.

Victor didn't hesitate, he took the woman's hand surprised at the firmness of the grip, "In the spirit of cooperation, Khan Marthe Pryde."

Marthe was a little surprised by how strong the small man's grip was. As puny as he was, he did radiate authority, confidence, and power. If only he had been captured on Trellwan, he would likely rank high in their touman by now. However, it had not been his destiny to become one of the clans; it had apparently been his destiny to try to defeat them. Now that he had fought them on their own ground, defeated them by their own system, he wanted to coexist peacefully. Marthe knew that the politics of the clans would never allow that. How could they say their entire way of life had been a mistake? They could not and they would not do that. Thus, she was forced to categorize Victor Steiner-Davion as an enemy to their way of life, even though she did not personally see him that way. This, however, would be the acid test. He had claimed on Strana Mechty to not want to force his way of life on the clans, or take their way of life from them…how he reacted to what she was about to tell him would see if what he had claimed was true or political bluster.

"Let us all be seated." Vlad intoned as he moved to the head of the table. It was a clear mediating position as it placed him between both Victor and Marthe. Victor moved to take a seat opposite of where Khan Pryde had been seated and took a chair. Marthe Pryde mimicked the action, sitting eyeing her two male companions waiting for the official content of the meeting to begin.

"Well, let's get down to brass tacks, shall we?"

Marthe cocked her head, clearly not knowing what Davion had meant.

"Sorry, it's an old saying…let us get to it." Victor mentally cursed himself for letting the contraction slip in, knowing the clanner anathema towards them.

"I will inform you now that at the behest of Khan Pryde, an audio transcript of this meeting will be taken." Vlad was looking down at some papers as he spoke, perhaps a list of prearranged statements for the meeting, Victor could not be sure.

"Do you have any objections, Precentor Martial?"

"I have no objections, Khan Ward."

"Good, then let us proceed. Khan Pryde, you have a statement to make?"

"Yes, thank you." Marthe shuffled through some papers of her own, cleared her throat and began reading.

"Beginning in early December, Jade Falcon facilities in the cities of New Andrey and Baggera on Huntress became subject to a series of objective raids by unknown forces operating under the guise of Jade Falcon technical staff. At the time, we were under the impression that these attacks were coming from either Inner Sphere forces or other clans, specifically the Ice Hellions. As our investigations into the matters continued, the city of Lootera, the Star League neutral city, came under attack by what we believe to be the same group."

Marthe looked up, pausing from the speech.

"You, of course, will not have yet received word of these attacks Precentor Martial as the hyper pulse will take at least another week to reach you without boosters."

Victor's face was already showing deep concern.

Marthe cleared her throat again and proceeded, "After further research into the situation in cooperation with the commander of the enclave in Lootera, it became abundantly clear that the attacking forces came from neither the Inner Sphere nor another clan but rather from remnants of Clan Smoke Jaguar. Further more, we came to believe that the Jaguar Forces were operating as part of an organized and reinforced unit with a solid military command and logistical support. Given the organized and highly aggressive nature of these forces, and given their capacity to support and sustain an offensive on the planet, the Jade Falcon clan council has arrived at the following conclusions. One; the aggressor forces are clearly affiliated with the Clan Smoke Jaguar. Two; their level of organizational strength would indicate a prearranged operational basis for the aggressor forces. Three; the presence of Jaguar forces on Huntress constitutes a defined threat to all territorial interests on the planet. Four; the most expedient manner in which the situation can be addressed is via a joint Star League and Jade Falcon Force."

Vlad Ward arched his eyebrows, but his face betrayed no more emotion than that. The fact that the Jade Falcons had come to the conclusion that cooperation was necessary was almost unbelievable to him. Marthe was as strident a crusader as he, and the Falcons had never been known for warden leanings. That they would decide it would be in their best interest to ally themselves with the spheroids for this undertaking was hard to grasp. Still, Marthe could use this as a political windfall. In the Grand Council she could show that by honoring so powerful an enemy by treating with them she remained truer to the clan ways of honor and tradition better than other clans. Her interaction could also draw her votes in the warden camp of the home clans. Vlad never discounted the warrior in Marthe Pryde, but she was clearly more the politician than Elias Crichell ever was. Her subtle use of politics could be mistaken for ineptness. Perigard Zalman had made this mistake and it cost his clan dearly. Secretly Vlad rejoiced in his powerful alliance with the Falcon Khan.

Victor nodded, his face showing deep concentration. "Khan Pryde, while I do not doubt the validity of your claims…I must be ever wary of potential entrapments. I am sure you can understand my apprehension about this situation you are presenting."

Victor half expected an angry retort from Khan Pryde, he was not trying to incite her to anger, but he had to voice his concerns. He was rather surprised when her expression was more one of hurt than indignation.

"Precentor Martial Davion, I would be uttering a falsehood if I were to say that your apprehension and lack of trust did not wound me. You treated our forces with honor on Coventry and that is something I have not and will not forget. But if your concern is that great, I am willing to offer ransom to ensure you and yours that there is no subterfuge."

Victor raised his hands in a sign of contrition, "Khan Pryde, please do not misunderstand…I am not expressing distrust of you but rather…awww damnit…I'm just going to stop beating around the bush and be totally straight with you. There is something fishy seeming about this. I am not saying I specifically distrust you, but I can't guarantee that there are not factions operating among your people…that is to say the clans…that might not be using this as an opportunity to create a new war with the Inner Sphere."

Vlad had to admit it was a valid point. In the same situation, he would be wary of the other side's motives. But now was time for him to make a move, to place him in a position of prominence, to reassert his clan as the wisest in the tradition of Kerensky and to force Marthe Pryde to be further indebted to him.

"Victor Davion, I would present a compromise that will ensure that there are no false pretenses. As senior Khan of Clan Wolf, I am in a position to make certain concessions and treaties. I therefore offer the recommendation of an alliance between Clan Jade Falcon, your Star League, and with the Clan Wolf acting as a mediator body. If your fears are true, and this is a Jade Falcon trap, I will be able to leverage their bad-faith against them in the Grand Council and in the Inner Sphere. "

Marthe spitted Vlad with her glare. He noted the look with amusement. Marthe would doubtlessly be infuriated with him, but her temporary rage would be something he would endure…besides, if he managed to convince her to join him in bed, her anger might make for an interesting night's diversions.

Marthe fought down a wave of rage. Not at Victor Steiner-Davion's lack of trust in the integrity of the Jade Falcons, placed in the same position as he was, she probably would not trust herself…but Vlad Ward had taken in a bit to far. However, she could hardly oppose the motion if Davion accepted it. She hoped that he wouldn't but was positive that he would.

"Khan Pryde, is this arrangement acceptable to you?" Davion spoke with apprehension as if he knew that the compromised held more potential for disaster for the Falcons than any other party involved.

In a moment of confusion Marthe spoke. Victor Steiner-Davion had allowed her an out, a way to renegotiate, to make different concessions, ones that would place her further indebted to Vlad Ward. However, she understood the route bureaucracy could take. It would take weeks before a final compromise was reached. If she knew one thing about Victor Steiner-Davion, it was that he was a warrior and not a politician. Though they were of a different breed from one another, they both had a soldier's mindset and they loathed politicking and the process of mutual forcing of concessions.

"Yes." Marthe was almost shocked when the assent came forth from her own mouth, but apparently not quite as shocked as Vlad Ward whose eyes had widened at her reply, he quickly recover, however.

"Very well, so shall it be. I must point out, however, that you, Victor Davion, must be prepared to offer a concession should you capitalize on this situation to strike at the clans."

Victor raised his chin defiantly, "I would never…"

"Never the less, Precentor Martial, a cooperation between your forces and that of the Jade Falcons cannot be built on a one sided agreement."

Victor nodded grudgingly. Vlad Ward was quite the politician. He found himself admiring the Wolf Khan's eloquence. Among a warrior people, political acumen was often a rare thing, especially for one who had, as Vlad Ward did, ascend to power through military prowess.

"If it is acceptable to Khan Pryde, I will offer myself as bondsman to the Jade Falcons should I betray their trust."

It was Marthe's turn for a widening of eyes this time. She was shocked by this concession on the part of Victor Steiner-Davion. Given his position, he could not endorse a renewed invasion against Lyran worlds, but his incite and the way in which the SLDF would be crippled if he was taken by the Falcons would allow the clan to strike deep into Lyran space during the time of confusion brought on by his sudden removal from the position of commander of the SLDF.

She mustered every bit of calm she could as she replied, "Yes, Precentor Martial Steiner-Davion, this is acceptable to me."

Vlad Ward stood, "Very well, we shall retire for two hours while the initial wording of the treaty is transcribed, further refinement of the wording and articles of the agreement will be discussed and codified later today. We will reconvene at eleven hundred hours with our staffs to resolve the matter. The facilities of the Capital are at your disposal."

Davion rose, offering a formal farewell and left the conference room, presumably to gather his staff and return to the capital building for the 1100 meeting. As the door shut Marthe turned to look at Vlad Ward. The Wolf Khan noted with some interest that her chest was heaving much in the way it did during their intimate time together…her face on the other hand betrayed nothing of lustful intentions but rather rage.

"How could you make such a suggestion!" She hissed.

"Marthe, I undertook this request of yours and I intend to see it through to the most conducive conclusion, if that means concessions, than so be it."

"I am KHAN Pryde to you right now." She growled.

"Marthe…please, let us not behave like sibkin with something to prove. Think about it…what real power do I have to sell you out in the Grand Council? Most of them would not blink about you selling out Davion to your own ends. I am certain that if any of them knew of the treaty, they would be bending over backwards to try to assassinate him. But think of what you could stand to gain. If he betrays his word…he is yours." Vlad's attempts at placating the passionate Jade Falcon Khan seemed to be working. Her breathing had normalized and while the anger was still on her face, its intensity had been reduced.

"You know how many enemies I have in the Grand Council."

"I am counting on it."

"What?"

Vlad stepped forward, placing his body close to hers. Normally the invasion of personal space would be grounds for combat among trueborns, but he knew the strange power he held over her in the area of physical interaction. His hand came up, tracing his index finger along the left side of her jaw.

"We are going to elect me Ilkhan."

Marthe took a step back, butting her back to the wall, "Are you mad? Why would I ever agree to something like that?"

Vlad stepped closer, but off to her side, placing his face near her right ear. "Because, you are currently in debt to me, and we both know that if I am made Ilkhan, I will be good to those who have been good to me."

She turned her head to look at him, "So the Wolf would count the Falcon as its right hand?"

"Not officially, because we must maintain and appearance of animosity, however…in practice, the Falcon would find things going its way, often."

"If I support your petition, how can we hope to succeed? The Wolves, Jade Falcons, Coyotes, Horses, and Scorpions cannot hope to leverage enough votes to pass the measure. Providing that the two warden clans would support your claim at all given your Crusader leanings."

Vlad drew a sharp breath past his teeth before speaking. He knew the more seduction he turned on, the more he could burn through the nigh impenetrable Jade Falcon frost that characterized Marthe Pryde.

"Because, you will make it abundantly clear that you do NOT want me as Ilkhan. That alone should be enough reason for the clans who are so diametrically opposed to your clan to support the measure. We will maintain an appearance of animosity during the entire confirmation and voting process. You must make it clear that you believe that is you who should be Ilkhan, and that my claim is dubious. They will believe that by supporting me they are signing your death warrant, this will also prompt them to make mistakes in acting against you when I am confirmed. It will be their belief that they can move against you with impunity…an act that will garner them great misfortune when I find against them in the Grand Council."

Marthe met his eyes, her nostrils flaring, her own teeth bared slightly, her expression was melting into one of mutual lust. "Such deceit is chalcas. You know this as well as I."

"So? Perhaps I am damned for it…but the Crusader cause will gain more power, we will again stand at the forefront of the clans." Vlad pressed his body up against her, placing the palm of his right hand on the wall over her left shoulder.

"I must contact my staff, have them report here."

Vlad reached to his waist and lifted a wireless comm., pressing in a four number code he placed the device to his ear.

"Yes, Conner, assemble an escort for Khan Pryde's staff and tell them to wait forty five minutes then go pick them up. When they arrive, have them escorted to the executive officer lounge and see to it they are comfortable."

Vlad turned off the comm. and abruptly tossed it onto the table. Reaching up he tore off the fur lined leather jacket worn by Wolf warriors, dropping it to the floor.

Marthe reached up and pulled her long hair free from the band she had restraining it in the back. She looked the younger warrior in the eye, lips pursed.

"Stravag…"

"Freebirth." Vlad whispered back.

The insults were all that constituted the foreplay.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer:

If it doesn't appear in a source book or authorized publication, it's my intellectual property. Everything else belongs to Wizkids and/or Fanpro or contractual agents there-of. © 2001-2007 FanPro, LLC. © 2001-2007 WizKids, Inc.  
MechWarrior, BattleMech, 'Mech and AeroTech are registered trademarks of WizKids, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

All refrences to the Clans, Star League, as Well as specific Historical characters is done under the provision that the author will not profit from their use.

The author has not received fiscal (either monetary or in the form of services) compensation for the creation and publication of this piece. Attempts to solicit the author for rights to the text, characters, or ideas contained here-in will be considered as constituting a breach of the user agreement and will be immediately reported.

* * *

**Battletech: Resistance**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Camp Turkina

Sudaten

Jade Falcon Occupation Zone

December 25, 3061

0514 GST

_______

Diana started upright, her bed and under clothes soaked in sweat. It had been the same dream…the nightmare about watching her father's death. There were countless variations on the theme, but they all ended with her watching smoke curling out of a small hole in the cockpit canopy on the Timberwolf he had piloted on Tukayyid. Some nights the dream went further, as her mind processed what it would have been like to see his body ripped apart by shrapnel, or burned by the white hot stream of copper from a M138 Diamondback CLGP's shaped charge. Still other times he was incinerated by a laser or Particle beam. Her reactions to the dreams varied slightly too; some nights she just awoke suddenly, others she awoke with a scream, still other times, and this is what bothered her most, she awoke with tears streaming down her face.

Oh how she had ruminated on these dreams, pondering what portent or purpose they served; Aidan Pryde was dead, and visions would not change that fact, perhaps if they had come 10 years earlier, but now…useless. Diana lay back, flopping into the sweat soaked and cooling sheets. She traced her eyes across the ceiling, following a hairline crack which she was sure was now at least a decimeter longer than the last time she had seen it. She resolved to not think about the dream, she had spent so much time agonizing other them. She missed her father, she wished she had known him better, but most of all, she wished he was still alive to see what she had achieved, to know that he was proud of her.

"You are such a freebirth." She muttered under her breath.

She had to admit, the sentimentality was silly, backwards, and decidedly unwarrior-like, but that didn't change the fact that feelings were strong. Maybe it part of being freeborn to have emotions and feelings about the people around you.

"I do not have time for this, formation is in…."

Diana glanced at the clock, suddenly remembering what day it was. Rozendo Hazen had ordered the Galaxy to stand down for Christmas Observence. Horse had planned a small get together at Camp Borte, she had, of course, been invited, but at least part of her wasn't sure if she would attend or not. It was not because she objected to the company; she just wasn't sure she could bring herself to leave her quarters, it was easier to sit here and reflect and mope. She did not feel in good spirits, wasn't sure anything would put her in such, not even her old friends at Camp Borte.

Diana sighed, looking at the clock again, it was still early for a off-duty day. Still, the concept of lying in bed or going back to sleep in sweat soaked underwear didn't seem either pleasant or prudent. Even now her nose was greeted by the subtle pungent smell of souring sweat. Going back to sleep, not having to think at all seemed like an inviting option in spite of the hygienic issue, but that was the easy way out, and warriors did not abide an easy out. She was a warrior, that was who she had become and who she would stay, and if she did want to do her father proud, it would not be by agonizing wastefully over something as insignificant as a dream.

Throwing the sheet aside, she swung her feet over the side of the bed placed them on the course thin carpeting. It was a chill morning to be certain, but she tried not to think about it. She strode to the bathroom ajoining her bedroom and flipped on the light. The fluorescent bulb flickered twice then came on, bathing her in the ever so mildly blued and unforgiving artificial light. With great resolve, she looked in the mirror, certain she would not like what she saw, but knowing she needed to. She found her reluctance justified when she saw how tired and haggered her face presented. Pealing off the sweat soaked under shirt and bottoms, she appraised her body.

Shortly before Wolcott, she had taken with a Trueborn lover. He had been a mechwarrior in Trinary Delta; impossibly handsome and clearly much taken with her. Kyle Roshak, Diana let the name roll around in her mind a moment. As she looked down at her stomach, the tell-tale way that the muscle was no longer as clearly defined she remembered the way as a joke in foreplay he would bounce a 2 Kerensky coin off her stomach the way a Falconer would bounce a coin off the sheets on a bunk when inspecting billets. She examine her breasts, no longer quite as firm as they had been, and then her arms, squeezing at the bicep. It was softer than she liked. Kyle wouldn't have cared, he likely would never have noticed the slight imperfection, Diana still carried the shape and tone of an athlete, but it wasn't quite what it had been. Perhaps this was the type of thing that terrorized aging warriors. She found herself wondering if this is what Joanna had been going through all those years.

She was sure that it was the sort of thing that Kyle would never have noticed or if he had he wouldn't have cared at all, but that was a moot point, he had been killed on Wolcott fighting the Vipers. Diana didn't mourn him, he died as a warrior and brought much glory to his unit and his house destroying three Vipers in the final confrontation before finally taking a gauss round through his cockpit. His giftake had been accepted into the breeding program, in that way he had achieve immortality. But in spite of the larger concerns for the clan, Diana missed him and had to admit that she thought she may have loved him. He made her happy, she had looked forward to seeing him during their off-time, but that was all done and over with now. Just like Aidan Pryde, like all the others before and after, and between time. Part of her wondered if she was jinxed, that any who were close to her were doomed to face some untimely but ultimately heroic death. Heroism wasn't providing her much comfort right now, nor was her bloodname or parentage, or those whom she had counted as peers.

This was Christmas, a time that was supposed to be set aside for celebration and fellowship, why then could she only think of those who were gone? Summoning every modicum of resolve she had, Diana decided to put these things out of her mind, for today at the very least. Walking over to the shower she turned on the water and stared at the wall, pulling up every ounce of determination she had.

"Today will be a good day, and there is not a damn thing anyone can do about it."

* * *

Camp Borte

Sudaten

Jade Falcon Occupation Zone

December 25, 3061

0845 GST

_______

"You cheating freebirth!"

"It's all in the wrist."

"Stop using contractions!"

Horse chuckled.

He flicked his wrist, sending the nine of diamonds sailing through the air and into the waste paper bin at the opposite side of the office.

Joanna huffed in frustration then snapped her hand forward, the four of clubs wobbled through the air, entering a loose upward arc that culminated in a sloppy flip and the card pirouetting to the floor.

"Stravag!"

"Joanna, you have to use the wrist, watch."

Horse lifted his hand, the upper arm perpendicular to his body, lower arm parallel, then cocked his wrist back to run parallel to his upper arm. Snapping his wrist sharply, he sent the queen of spades winging over to the waste paper bin where it hit the back edge of the rim and tumbled inside.

Joanna stared at him in shock and mild incredulity. "You…cheating…freebirth!"

Horse guffawed, "It is not cheating if you do it right."

Joanna sunk deeper into the couch, "How did you even learn to play this stupid game anyway?"

"Glory Station, it was a preferred game among the techs there."

Joanna grimaced, "So it is a freebirth low-caste game."

"Except for the fact that the individual who taught us how to play was a crash-camp washout from a Hazen sibko."

Horse sent the ace of hearts sailing along in a shallow ballistic arc and into the trash can.

Joanna grunted. "I hate when you are better at things."

Horse chuckled again, "That's why you're so angry."

Joanna responded by giving Horse a shove, which just made him chuckle again.

The door to his office swung open and in strode Marx Icaza, without acknowledgement of either Horse or Joanna he crossed to Horse's desk and poured a generous amount of clear liquid from one of the liquor bottles there into a clear plastic cup. Taking less time to look at it and even less time to smell it he downed the contents in one gulp. He gasped, eyes going wide, and his prosthetic arm came up rubbing at his chest. His face flushed visibly. After a cough he turned to look at Horse.

"What…what is this?"

Horse grinned, "Güt shieze, jah? Sixty Kerensky a bottle."

Marx coughed again, then poured another generous amount into the plastic cup, "Magnificent!"

Marx once again downed the drink, squinted his eyes close, rubbing his chest again and grimacing, then finishing the display with a stomping of his boot and a falcon whoop. Having endured a second round of the ordeal he picked up the bottle and inspected it appraisingly. "Magnificent, I will have to acquire some of this."

Joanna stared at the waste paper basket with decided concentration then sent her card sailing, its course was awkward but the card managed to drop into the plastic bin and Joanna hooted in victory.

Marx shrugged off his jacket and then looked at the pair on the couch with a confused expression. "What are you doing?"

Joanna elbowed Horse, "He is teaching me how to be a freebirth."

Marx blinked, his face awash with confusion, "Do you…require some privacy?"

Horse let out a hearty belly laugh.

Joanna turned three shade of red, "No, not like that. It is this freebirth game…"

"Taught to me by a trueborn."

Horse flicked another card at the bin, it winged through the air neatly, hitting the opposite side of the bin with a clicking sound then dropping in.

Recognition flashed in Icaza's eyes, "Oh yes, I love this game! My first commander taught us how to play."

Joanna looked flabbergasted, "I give up." She handed Marx her stack of cards and walked over to the desk/wet bar. "Defend the honor of truebirths, I am going to start tying one on."

Marx sat down on the couch in Joanna's place, settling himself in and flicked a card into the bin.

"Nice one Star Commander."

Joanna found a bottle of bourbon that was to her liking and sat down in a chair, with one of the clear plastic cups. She watched as the two sent card after card sailing into the trash bin, hooting at particularly good tosses and poking fun at the ones that missed. Joanna poured a generous amount of the liquid in the cup, rolling it around in the plastic for a few moments before downing it. It was warm and ever so slightly sweet. She poured another, and repeated the process, holding in her mouth a moment to catch the subtle flavors, then swallowing it down, feeling the delightful warmth in her stomach. She reflected for a moment on how good it felt to be a real warrior again. In many ways, she felt 20 years younger. She didn't really look it. Her hair was all but completely grey now, and there where still crows feet in the corners of her eyes and frown lines around her face and forehead. But on the other hand she had lost 10 kilos since returning to front line duty with the Irregulars. Her leg hadn't really healed much, but she could still manage a six minute mile. Her gunnery scores with small arms had gone up sharply since leaving the sib nanny duty. The medics also informed her that her blood pressure was down sharply since her last physical, but she wasn't sure what significance there was in that.

Her only regret was that it had been a freebirth that got it all done. She allowed herself a hint of a bitter-sweet smile. Horse was always going to be a freebirth, but he was more, he was the one human being that she could honestly count as a friend. She looked at him while he and Marx continued the card game, watched them laugh and hoot. She decided that she honestly did love Horse. Not in some physical manner, or like those foolish Inner Sphere romances, but like brothers in arms would. She would die for Horse, she was sure of that, and she was equally sure he would die for her if the situation necessitated it. Part of her was sure that Horse was too crafty to have to die for her, he'd figure out a way to get her out. She'd be angry that he cheated the odds, he'd poke fun at her in his own way, she'd get mad at him, and the comical cycle would continue. She took herself so seriously that if it wasn't for Horse not taking her seriously at all, she would likely burst into flames at some point. He was like her own personal heat sink, or gyro. Keeping her cool or centered as the case may be.

"You are too good at this, Star Colonel." Marx offered between chuckles.

"Marx, you can call me Horse."

"Very well Horse, but I think the title suits you to well."

Joanna guffawed, "There was a time when the idea of a freeborn Star Colonel would have set a trueborn on his or her ear."

Marx missed another toss, he was, admittedly doing infinitely better than Joanna, but still couldn't keep up with Horse's proficiency.

"Stravag, you are a pro! Do you play darts too?"

"Maybe we should get him drunk, and even the playing field. Drink, Horse?"

"Sure, Joanna, a bourbon would be nice."

Joanna grabbed another clear plastic cup and poured a generous portion into it, placing it on the table in front of Horse.

"Thanks Joanna."

Joanna grunted acknowledgement, trying to hide the fact of how good she was feeling.

"How is the arm, Marx?" Joanna inquired as she poured herself another drink.

"Oh, well to be honest, I sometimes forget it is artificial." Marx worked the fingers on the prosthetic arm, the movement perfectly simulating normal human dexterity.

Horse grunted, "You know Joanna, that might be an option for your leg."

"I came out of the vat with this leg, and unless I am parted from it via other means, it is going to stay on until I am ashes."

Horse shrugged, took a sip of his bourbon, and sent another card sailing into the waste paper bin.

The door swung open again and this time in strode Star Captain Gisselle and Galaxy Commander Rozendo Hazen. The two of them both wore the heavy cold weather coats falcon warriors on Sudaten carried in the winter months. Rozendo Hazen was making some suggestions to Gisselle about offsetting venue choices for her upcoming bloodname trials as they entered.

Horse turned to look at the door, and stood, hands on his hips and a big smile across his face.

"Ro, I am glad you accepted my invitation."

"Would not have missed it for all the worlds in the ARDC, Horse. Freeborns lay a good table and a fine bar and I am quite sure you can do either at a cut above the rest. Besides, I think there is better company to be had here than in the entire invasion corridor." Hazen declared as he removed his cold-weather jacket.

Horse cocked a brow, "For all the worlds in the ARDC I would have missed it."

Hazen smirked, "Alright, you have me there."

"Well, come in, come in, have a drink, take a seat, enjoy yourself, it is, after-all Christmas."

Hazen grinned, "You never have to ask me to have a drink, just point me to the bar and I will handle the rest." He eyed the room once over and noticed Marx Icaza.

"Ah, Star Commander Icaza, pleasure to finally meet you. We were sorry to hear about your arm."

Marx shrugged, "This one has a better warranty than the last one, sir."

Christmas was rarely if ever celebrated among the clans, and then usually only among the lower castes. Rozendo Hazen however, had seen fit to allow for an exception in Gamma Galaxy. The year before, he had seen a particularly old Inner Sphere film from Federated Suns space about Christmas and had been so taken by the film he decided to mandate a duty-free day on the twenty fifth of December so that the staff and compliment of Gamma might celebrate in the way they deemed fit. The decision was initially balked at, but soon the warrior and support staff of Gamma had found the idea of a planetary celebration day that they could share with the native population sounded like a good bridge builder. The decision was embraced by Gamma and it also had a profound effect on planetary morale on worlds garrisoned by Gamma's Warriors. As the days had crept closer, the atmosphere on Sudaten had grown more and more excited. Garish lights and decorations had popped up in the towns. People exchanged gifts, and great feasts were being prepared for. Even the warriors of Gamma seemed to be swept up in the excitement unable to resist the influence of the spirit of good cheer. Galaxy Commander Hazen had, perhaps, been more excited that anyone as he watched his brain child come to fruition. It was a coup, he had managed to finally reach the hearts and minds of the natives of the occupied worlds. Suddenly the Falcons didn't seem quite so alien, quite so oppressive and militant.

Gisselle crossed to the couch and sat down on the arm adjacent Horse. "What are you two up to?"

"I am teaching the Star Colonel how to be a trueborn." Marx offered while cocking his arm back to fire off another playing card.

Joanna scoffed to which Marx gave her a devilish grin.

"Oh?" Gisselle looked at Horse, "So you will be a trueborn after this?"

Gisselle let her fingers idly play in horses close cropped hair. Joanna had seen young female warriors play the sex card to get ahead in the clans. She had known of more than one coergn that slept his or her way to the top, but there seemed to be some genuine feelings here. It was strange in a way, Horse was an old warrior, close to 50, and Gisselle was not even 30. She couldn't divine what the young woman saw in him, but it clearly was more than her attempting to further her own career.

"In fairness, the Star Colonel was probably playing this game while I was still in sibko." Marx declared matter-of-factly.

Gisselle looked at Horse, "Can I try?"

Horse handed her the deck of cards, "Knock yourself out."

Rozendo Hazen rubbed his chin as he watched the way the young warrior flirted with her commander. He had coergns that had tried to ply him with sex to further some goal of theirs, they never lasted long. His tastes had always been to acquire something, not to take what was freely given. He had to admit, Horse was a fine officer, an exemplar warrior, and if he had not been freeborn, would likely be the Galaxy Commander of Gamma himself. It had been made clear in the clan council that if Kael Pershaw were to die, that he would likely be promoted to loremaster, and the idea of Horse taking command of Gamma in his stead did not strike him as a bad move. Horse was freeborn, that was true, but Hazen admired him immensely, he was precisely the type of warrior he appreciated; the kind that wrested their position, their reputation, indeed…their glory from adversity. He was also a Falcon through and through, perhaps even more so than some trueborns. As he reflected on his new friend he crossed to the desk and was even now perusing the selection of bottles. Friend, it was a strange thought. He had never befriended a freebirth before. He had techs and laborers that worked under him that he had viewed with some measure of fondness, but it was never the fondness one accords a peer or equal. Was Horse his equal? Certainly he was lowborn, and without a doubt he was his subordinate, but he could not think of a warrior he would prefer to have at his right hand. Yes, he did consider him an equal, barring the politics.

Once again, the door to the office swung open and this time Star Commander Pegeen, Sanford Christu, Mechwarrior Barnard, and Point Commander Mareel entered the office. The short Pegeen snapped to attention, "Galaxy Commander, its an honor to have you here."

Rozendo waved off the formality, "No need for protocol here today, Star Commander, we are all just warriors today, come have a drink."

"You don't have to ask me twice, sir."

Horse strolled over to where they stood and took on a lecturing tone, "Now Pegeen, what did I say about being on your best behavior with the Galaxy Commander."

Pegeen looked at Hazen with devilry glinting in her eyes. "Do not worry, sir. I do not bite…much."

Hazen smirked at the petite warrior, "You had better."

"Falcon's honor, sir."

Horse rolled his eyes, garnering a chuckle from Hazen.

Across the room Sanford Christu and Barnard chatted with Point Commander Mareel. They were apparently discussing small arms techniques. Barnard and Christu were obsessed with the techniques of the military endeavor, constantly looking for ways to improve their own craft and share their knowledge with others.

"Ro, come with me a moment, you have to meet some people."

Hazen nodded, "Of course. Pegeen, do not go away, I will be back directly."

Horse eyed the Galaxy Commander, "Taking a liking to Pegeen, Ro?"

"She is charming Horse, good company, do not read anything else into it…"

Horse cocked a brow, "Yet?"

"…Yet…"

Horse chuckled.

As the approached, the three junior warriors turned their attention to the officers.

"Ro, these are my prize bird, eyes as sharp as a Falcon, and talons as sharp."

The stocky freeborn warrior and the lanky trueborn nodded, "Galaxy Commander."

"So you are the vaunted Barnard and Sanford Christu."

"Yes sir," Barnard replied.

"I make up in piloting what I lack in gunnery, Barnard has the sharpest eye and best trigger finger in the clans, sir." The taller Sanford offered.

Hazen nodded, "Good, good, I might have to have you work the Guards soon, I fear Star Colonel Pryde has not been doing such a good job motivating the warriors to work their gunnery as of late, to interested in maneuver."

"I would be a privilege sir."

"That is what I like to hear, Barnard."

As more individuals showed up, it became rapidly apparent that there would not be enough room in Horse's small office for all the guests. It was perhaps a logistical failing on his part, if not a very important one. It seemed that the entire cluster would be showing up, plus those he had invited from the Falcon Guards. An impromptu meeting between Hazen, Joanna, and Horse determined that it would be best to relocate to the Cluster Education Annex classrooms. Located, as it was, right next to the mess hall it would be a perfect location for the social since a banquet was scheduled for 1430. The displacing action took on all the fanfare of a military operation as the officers delegated whom would carry what. And thus, after donning their cold weather jackets, the collection of warriors made their way across the parade grounds to the Education Annex.

Horse looked around the lobby, taking in what was occurring. The mood was good. Warriors, trueborn and freeborn alike were clearly enjoying themselves and mingling with no regard to their birth or station. Horse reflected with some mild amusement that Rozendo Hazen seemed to be taking quite a shine to Pegeen as the two chatted boisterously. This definitely had the makings of a good day.

_A good day indeed_.

"Still, a damn shame you couldn't be here."

_I will live._

"You are being ironic again."

_Aren't I always?_

"Often enough."

_Will Diana be coming?_

"In all likelihood, yes."

_That is good, it has been a while._

"Define, a while."

_Since I died on Tukayyid._

"So should I take it from that, that you are just a figment of my imagination and not a ghost or a spirit speaking to me from the great beyond?"

_Take it how you want, I could be neurosis caused by to much Neurohelmet feedback._

"I hate when you're cryptic."

_I know._

Diana pulled the hood up around her head again. Whether by design or some oversight, Ravill Pryde had acquired an open top technical as transport to Horse's social at Camp Borte. Diana wasn't entirely sure why he had accepted the invitation, or why Horse had even sent him one. She expected it was an issue of protocol, Star Colonels being Star Colonels. Part of her also thought it was Horse being insulting, rubbing his position and favor in the face of the bigoted Pryde. Of course, Ravill Pryde could not turn the invitation down, especially if there was a chance Rozendo Hazen would attend.

They were 15 kilometers into the 25 kilometer trip and Diana felt as though her ears were at risk of falling off.

"I should have made sure there was a closed vehicle." The short trueborn finally said.

"It might have made the trip more comfortable, sir."

"You are close to the Star Colonel, he and your father were very close, quiaff?"

Pryde did an excellent job not choking on the word "father" but Diana could sense his discomfort at saying the word.

"Aff, Star Colonel, Horse was his closest friend."

"So, this is something akin to a family reunion for you."

The word family came out strained.

"Yes sir, between Horse and Joanna, they amount to what could be called extended family."

Diana secretly enjoyed watching Ravill Pryde squirm slightly at the idea of family.

"Well, we should be there soon enough."

The ride continued in silence. It was an overcast day, prematurely dark, and quite cold. Just a few weeks before the weather had been sunny and mild, but today it was as if the weather had decided to take a diametric shift. Upon reaching the gate they were greeted by one of the Elementals from the Irregulars, a huge freeborn named Pollux, born of two washed out elementals from Gatekeeper. Pollux directed them to the Education annex and requested that they inform Horse that he would be arriving shortly. Upon reaching the annex, they found the building was full of Irregulars warriors all of which were apparently having the time of their lives. Diana and Ravill Pryde entered the building and removed their jackets. Trueborn and Freeborn warriors alike were mingling, laughing, joking, and telling war stories. This was a soldier's gathering if ever there had been one. On the walls of the lobby there were pictures of mechs and warriors long gone. When the camp had been erected, Horse had insisted that the building be named the Aidan Pryde Memorial War Education Complex. There had been some initial protest, but given his relationship to the Jade Phoenix, Khan Marthe Pryde had agreed it was appropriate and, indeed, fitting. A rather crude and rudimentary photograph of Aidan Pryde standing next to the leg of a _Summoner_ served as the centerpiece of the lobby. Just inside, they found Rozendo Hazen sitting in a chair, next to him was Star Commander Pegeen, who Diana recognized from her time in the Falcon Guards, as well as a rather beautiful young Star Captain and two other mechwarriors, one short and stocky, the other tall and thin.

Hazen looked up from his conversation and quickly stood, "Star Colonel Pryde, I am glad to see you accepted our Horse's invitation."

He looked over at Diana, "Ah, the infamous Diana Pryde. Have you seen the Annex? A fine testament to the legacy of your father, the learning hear will do his legacy honor, much as you have."

Hazen was in profoundly good humor. He was enjoying himself immensely, Diana could tell.

"You of course remember Star Commander Pegeen." Hazen extended a hand towards Pegeen who stood and walked over.

"Star Colonel, Star Captain."

Hazen placed and arm around Pegeen, grabbing her shoulder. "Such a delightful young woman."

Pegeen cut eyes at Hazen with the "Oh you" expression, but failing to hide a slight blush. Truth was Pegeen was only about six years younger than the Galaxy Commander, but perhaps it was a mild case of Trueborn superiority showing through.

Hazen leaned close to Pegeen, "Would you be a dear and get me another…"

"Mojito?"

"Yes, another Mojito, if you would."

Pegeen gave the Galaxy Commander a devilish smile, "Right away, sir."

"Ravill…You must speak to Mechwarriors Barnard and Sanford Christu here, they are geniuses of the first order. I know this day is duty suspended, but as your commanding officer I believe it is due diligence that you talk with these two."

Ravill Pryde was clearly uncomfortable, Rozendo Hazen was clearly drunk.

"Yes sir, I will do so."

"Excellent, Diana, come with me, I know some people who would very much like to see you."

* * *

Camp Borte

Sudaten

Jade Falcon Occupation Zone

December 25, 3061

1948 GST

______

Horse picked up his Collins glass, spinning the contents around, watching as the amber liquid rotated around the glass, creating a small whirlpool in the middle. His mind toyed with the idea of a miniature trireme sailing a sea of bourbon facing an alcohol Chyrabdis: Ulysses in the whiskey bottle. It dawned on him that this idea alone was probably a good enough indicator that he had probably had far too much to drink today. On the couch across from his desk, Rozendo Hazen sat with his feet kicked up on the coffee table.

"That was quite a party, Horse."

"Indeed it was, I think next year we shall have an ever better one, perhaps invite the Khan."

Hazen nodded a slow drunken nod.

"It was good to see Diana, I had not seen her since Wolcott."

"Among freeborns, would you be considered her uncle, or her Godfather?"

Horse shrugged, "I do not think 'father's best friend' has any connotation other than 'father's best friend' to be honest."

"Hmmm, perhaps something to research."

Horse twirled the glass again and took a sip of the contents.

"So, about this Christmas present you said you had for me?"

Horse chuckled and reached into his desk, "It's an old book sir, a martial conflict in the continent of Africa in the late twentieth century; a story of the soldiers, the warriors and a battle against insurmountable odds."

"Sounds intriguing."

"It is very old, Ro; published some years after the event, an original."

Hazen leaned over and took the book from Horse's desk, looking at the ancient tattered dust cover. "Amazing, this is a piece of history. I have something for you too, Horse."

Horse arched his brows, "Oh, what can you get the freeborn that has everything?"

The trueborn officer reached into his coat and pulled out a tri-folded piece of paper. "See for yourself."

Hazen tossed the piece of paper onto Horse's desk.

Horse stared at the paper, "These aren't orders to return to the homeworlds are they?"

"Not unless I was struck with sudden and irreversible illiteracy."

Horse seemed reluctant to look, "Well, what is it?"

"Open it and look! I am relatively sure you will be pleased."

Slowly, Horse lifted the papers and unfolded them.

"Is this?"

"Yep."

"This can't be right."

"It is, on order of the Khan herself."

"A full strength cluster, and orders to raise a second!?"

"That is correct, the effect you had on Zeta convinced the Khan you should take a more active role in the development of the Touman. Congratulations, Galaxy Commander."

Horse paled, "What do you mean?"

Hazen chuckled, "Maybe not yet, but it is impending. I am positive you will be taking over Gamma before to much longer."

"But, Ro, what about you Gamma is yours."

"Well, I will be Loremaster, of course, Kael Pershaw can not live forever."

The comm. line on Horse's desk chimed. It was unexpected, there had been no cause for communication today, meaning that the message must be urgent. Horse answered the line without waiting for a second "ring."

"First Falcon Cuirassiers Headquarters, Star Colonel Horse speaking."

"Horse, thank Kerensky, do you know where Galaxy Commander Hazen is?"

"Khan Pryde, yes…he is right here."

Marthe breathed a sigh of relief, "Nobody in his headquarters knew where he was, put the line on speaker, you both need to hear this."

Horse depressed a button on the comm. receiver then returned the hand-set to its place.

"Rozendo, are you there?"

"Yes, ma'am, present and accounted for."

"We need to talk about you informing your staff of where you are going and when."

"Actually I did, a replacement must have answered the comm. line earlier, the remainder of my staff had the day off."

"Why would that be?" Marthe sounded incredulous.

"It is Christmas!" Hazen exclaimed with great gusto.

"I was not aware that was a celebration we observed."

"We do now, we have a consensus, everyone loves Christmas. Planetary morale has gone up twenty eight percent."

"We have a dire situation."

Hazen suddenly became very serious. "What kind of situation."

"Horse, are you still there?"

"Yes, my Khan, should I leave the office?"

"No, no you need to hear this too. The Smoke Jaguars have returned."

Horse sat stunned.

"That is preposterous!" Hazen roared.

"The Watch confirmed it, they are Smoke Jaguar warriors. They are operating in and around the area of Lootera on Jaguar Prime. They have made several raids on Lootera, New Andry, and Bagera."

Horse spoke up, "But, Khan Pryde…"

"Horse, I am Marthe to you."

"Marthe…Lootera is an Inner Sphere concern."

Marthe sighed, "It is complicated, but regardless, I need the Irregulars and the Guards on Ironhold yesterday. How soon can both clusters be ready to make the journey back?"

Hazen chimed in, "The Irregulars can start boarding procedures immediately, the Guards might take two or three days."

"Good, start making the preparations, I want you two on a command circuit and here as soon as possible, this situation is…dire."

"As you wish, my Khan."

"I will get the irregulars scrambled right now." Horse added.

Khan Pryde sighed, sounding mentally drained, "Good, oh…and I suppose, Merry Christmas is in order."

"If we are going to war, it most certainly is." Horse crowed.

* * *

Psi Galaxy Headquarters

Huntress

Clan Space

December 25, 3061

0015 GST

______

"I think I pulled something."

"Ryer, do not complain so much." Ophelia chided.

"Easy for you to say, you did not have to hump that cooling cylinder."

"Those cylinders were very heavy." Point Commander Saunders added.

"Look at this, it does not look normal, I think something is pulled."

Ophelia rolled her eyes. "You are such a baby, Ryer."

"A baby who was humping a coolant cylinder AND firing extract for your point."

Ophelia rolled onto her stomach in he bunk, looking over to where Ryer was. "Point taken, come here, let me see it."

The other elemental rose and walked over to where Ophelia was, rolling his shoulder as he did and holding his left side.

Ophelia tossed a pillow on the floor, "Lie down."

"Does it look bad?" Ryer inquired, doing as he was bade.

"Well, I think you pulled something."

From across the room Givin laughed. "See, and you doubted him, Ophelia."

"Quiet."

Ryer settled onto the pillow, stomach to the floor, the thick muscles in the lower left side of his back had a strange bunched quality that contrasted with those on the right side of his back, and his normally pale skin was flushed a bit in the region.

Ophelia removed her jacket and straddled the injured elemental, the deep nut brown of her skin contrasting sharply with the milky white of Ryer. With deft hands she began to work the thick knotted sinew.

Ryer grunted from underneath.

"Did that hurt? I hope it is not herniated."

"No, no, that feels good."

Ophelia continued working the muscle in Ryer's back, who grunted and groaned occasionally as her strong hands plied the irritated sinew.

"Is it starting to relax?"

"If I say 'no' will you keep doing it?"

Ophelia gave Ryer's head a quick open handed cuff then tousled his strawberry blond hair. "We both know where that will go, and if you have an injured back…"

"You could be on top."

"Kerensky's blood, I know where this is going." Miranda groaned.

Ryer reached back and tapped Opehlia's leg, who shifted off of him, allowing him to rise. Spreading his colossal arms wide, and rolling his neck he worked the muscles in his back. Reaching down he helped Ophelia to her feet. Ryer had about three inches on Ophelia, but short of their height and musculature, that was about where the similarities stopped. Ryer was pale, seeming even more so when standing next to the dark skinned Ophelia. His reddish blond hair was kept short, hers was burnt umber and she wore it very long. Ryer grinned at Ophelia looking her in the eyes. Ophelia went for a more subtle come-hither expression.

"You might upset the muscle in your back again, you know."

"That is why I said you should be on top."

"Oh, you think that means you will not have to do any work?"

"I can work from the bottom, want me to…"

The door to the barracks swung open. Elemental Freitag stood in the door, his massive form eclipsing the outside bay area. Freitag had an undeniable aura of authority that even the other elemental point commanders deferred to. It was no secret that Star Captain Bal trusted him emphatically. In addition to the command presence, he had a kind of palpable threat of violence surrounding him. Freitag was a killer, and an experienced one at that. His codex showed nine solo mech kills during the invasion, one, an AS7-K Atlas. Few questioned why he did not have a bloodname or higher rank. There was some speculation that he was actually a freebirth, but none would think to ever question it openly.

Ryer and Ophelia stepped away from each other, both suddenly feeling very stupid in the face of Freitag having entered the barracks. The elder elemental surveyed the room for a moment then stepped aside, a rather attractive woman of indeterminate age walked in past him. She was well dressed, her hair and skin well taken care of, her hands did not show signs of manual labor and she quite obviously did not have the bearing or poise of a warrior, clearly scientist caste. The woman was positively petite compared to the other elementals in the room. Freitag towered over her nearly two feet.

"Is this an inspection?" Elemental Caruthers finally sputtered.

The Scientist crossed to Freitag's bunk and sat down on the edge, crossing her legs and undoing the top button of her collar, "No, it is not."

The writing obviously on the wall; the stunned elementals rose and left the barracks to allow Freitag the necessary privacy to complete the act. As the last one exited, Freitag closed and locked the door.

Point Commander Saunders looked at the others once they had exited the quarters, his face still painted with disbelief, "Well, who saw that coming?"

The others shook their head, mirroring his shock.

"Never from Freitag, I always assumed he never felt the 'need'."

Saunders shrugged at Elemental Ophelia's assertation.

"Well, it was a bit over-due. Kerensky only knows how many times he has had to file out for one of us."

"But a scientist? Why would he choose a scientist?" Givin seemed flabbergasted.

"Who knows why he chose as he did, but that was his decision, and that is enough." Miranda interjected.

"Probably and age thing, we are little more than sibbies to Freitag, most of the warriors here are." Ryer offered.

"What is the story here?"

The elementals turned to see Star Captain Bal had approached from behind.

"Sir, Elemental Freitag is…ummmm…" Saunders stammered.

"Sir, Freitag is attending to certain biological needs." Ophelia piped in.

Bal cocked a brow, "I am not sure I follow you, warrior."

"We all agree it was over due, sir." Saunders replied once again finding voice to the situation.

"I am still lost, what are you talking about?"

Warrior Caruthers sneered at the others, "Just say it. Freitag is in their coupling. How difficult is that to say? I think she was a scientist. Knowing Freitag he will probably practically break her in half though."

Bal frowned, "You said Freitag, quiaff?"

"Aff, sir, it was Freitag." Miranda Piped in.

"Our, Freitag."

"Yes…sir…Warrior Freitag, the only Freitag in Psi Galaxy." Ryer shot back.

Bal's jaw dropped as he looked between the other elementals.

Ophelia shrugged in the awkward silence. "Well, it is not like we have not all been around the garrison a few times ourselves."

Bal shook his head, "Still…Freitag…I never would have dreamed."

Scientist Regina undid the buttons on her cuffs, shrugging off her coat, she was not entirely sure if she should undress herself or if he would have wanted to do it for her. She had never expected that Warrior Freitag would ever ask her back to his quarters. He had never struck her as the sort. She did have some feelings towards him. He was soft spoken, occasionally funny, and possessed of a kind of soldier's sophistication. Intellectually he was far behind what she was accustomed to among other members of the scientist caste, but there was a type of wisdom about him, what they once had called "horse sense" that she found refreshing and perhaps even a little alluring. In a clan where martial prowess was valued above all, on the other hand, Freitag was quite a prize. His codex read like a who's-who of engagements and campaigns. By some drastic over-sight Freitag had never been awarded his bloodname and his rank was decidedly low, but that might have been politics coming into the equation. She appreciated his powerful physique, his hardened looks, and his bearing of total confidence in his abilities. She found herself realizing that she had been waiting for just this event for some time. Regina was trueborn, but was in a sibko that had been completely washed out when they were very young. Apparently some great dishonor had stained the codex of one of their gene parents, and the entire sibko was declared unfit for warrior status. She had coupled with trueborns and freeborns alike, but never an elemental, and never a warrior with the seasoning of Freitag. She tried to hide it, but she was tingling with anticipation.

Freitag gingerly closed the door, locking it. Turning back he hung his BDU jacket on a coat hook, he then proceeded to unlace and remove his boots. Upon doing so he placed them neatly under his jacket. He crossed over to his foot locker in a few large steps, bending down and undoing the lock, he opened the top and pulled two small items from it. Regina craned her neck to see the items. They were a small book and a votive in a small glass, on the glass where a number of symbols she did not recognize. Freitag knelt, placing the candle on the footlocker and produced a lighter from his pocket, setting flame to the wick. He placed the book gently next to the candle then sat down on his knees, clasping his hands together just over his heart and bowing his head. His lips moved as if he was reciting something, but no sounds issued forth. Regina had seen this gesture once before in a book dedicated to cultural matters circa the time before the inception of the Star League.

Freitag continued to pray in silence, this was the birthday of his savior. In his silent ministration he asked forgiveness for his deception and asked for the strength to face the adversities both spiritual and temporal that he would come up against him. The weight of his own belief began to bear down on him as he remembered the sins he had committed and the glory his savior had wrought of his own flesh, sacrificing himself that a soul may continue on, to the greatest glory, to paradise where it would live folded into the embrace of the almighty forever and ever, beyond the end of time into an infinity his mind could not grasp. Tears welled up in his eyes involuntarily. His body burned in a way he had never experienced before, this was religious ecstasy, a moment of terrible beauty as the spirit of God came upon him, gifting him with understanding and a profound sense of duty.

Regina suddenly understood, Freitag was praying. He had never intended sexual congress, she was his scapegoat, so that the others would leave and he could practice his religious beliefs in private. She found herself feeling suddenly very sorry for him. Of all the clans, Smoke Jaguar was probably the least tolerant of religion, and here, a trueborn warrior, practiced one of the faiths that were all but banned to him. The anticipation she had experienced faded and was replaced with some profound admiration of the mental strength it must have required to remain true to a faith when so many things attempted to supplant those very beliefs. A click at the door drew her eyes away from the prostrated Elemental. The door opened ever so slightly, then further as she spotted the giant form of Star Captain Bal enter the room. She started slightly, but Bal quickly brought a finger to his lips signaling silence.

Bal had to know, he couldn't believe that Freitag was actually in the act of coitus. He had waited five minutes, unable to wrest the will to approach the building, see if the tell-tale signs would indicate that Freitag was indeed coupling with this scientist. When he finally worked up the nerve to get to the building, he heard nothing; nothing to indicate that anything at all was occurring inside. After another four minutes of deliberation he unlocked and opened the door, unsure what he would see, but having to know just the same. What he saw through the crack in the door was Freitag on his knees, hands clasped together, muscles straining as he rocked slightly back and forth, head bowed and lips moving feverishly.

_I am a Christian, sir._

It suddenly all made sense. The scientist bolted upright, he half expected her to scream when she saw him, but motioned for quite and she complied. Gesturing he ordered her to come to the door, she rose quietly, picking up her shoes and quietly crossed to the door. As they left Bal quietly closed the door back. The other elementals approached in bewilderment.

"Well, he did not last long." Ophelia offered.

Bal spitted her with a glare that could melt ferro fibrous.

"Warrior Freitag did not bring me here with the intent of sex, he brought me here so that you would be forced to leave and he could worship as he deemed fit."

Bal stared at the scientist as if she had betrayed Freitag's greatest secret.

Caruthers stared at the scientist, his face screwed up with confusion and an element of disgust, "What do you mean, 'worship' you surat?"

Bal sighed, "Warrior Freitag is a follower of Christianity. This is one of the holy days of that faith."

Ophelia paled, "Is that not treason, sir?"

Scientist Regina piped up, "It most certainly is not! He hides his faith because of meat headed warriors who understand nothing but war!"

Bal gave her a withering glance, she was dangerously close to insubordination, even for a scientist. "Warrior Freitag's deep held beliefs are none of our concern as long as they do not interfere with his duty."

Another of the Elementals, Point Commander Leonard, crossed his arms, "We will see what Star Colonel Moon says in that regard."

Bal growled a reply, "This is a trinary issue, and it should be kept WITHIN the trinary. I am still in command here, lest you forget yourself, Point Commander."

"Per the Galaxy Commander, this could be considered an issue of security. Your assessment is incorrect, Star Captain." Leonard fired back.

"So you challenge my authority?"

"I contend you have no authority in this situation."

Bal rolled his neck, "Then this is an issue for the circle of equals."

The remaining elementals, including some others who had arrived, arrayed themselves in a loose circle around the two.

Scientist Regina instinctively moved out of the circle and watched as the two elementals squared off.

Leonard took a wide martial arts stance, feet apart, right arm cocked back at mid thorax level and the left arm extended, hand open.

Bal cocked his fists up near his head, feet closer together, slowly he worked towards the other elemental. He knew that Leonard was waiting for Bal to make the first blow. At the same time, he knew that Leonard would expect that he expected him to do the same. The old game of countering, if Leonard was waiting for Bal to be apprehensive he was going to disappoint him. Stepping forward and leading with his left in an overhand, Bal moved to strike. Leonard brought his hand up to ward the blow, clearly not expecting such a quick impetuous move. Bal had counted on this, rotating at the hips suddenly and snapping his right shin up and into Leonard's midsection. Capitalizing, he then allowed the momentum to carry his upper body around and caught Leonard on the temple with a right hook.

Leonard flurried back, leaning forward and firing off a quick right, left, right jab combination. The blows all landed on Bal's fists and arms, causing no real damage. Bal countered by snapping his right foot hard into Leonard's left thigh. The other elemental stepped back, favoring the leg, then responded with a kick of his own. Bal sidestepped then shot his right shin up once again into Leonard's midsection, this time striking the ribs of his left side. The stricken elemental fell back a few steps, left arm, bent at the elbow coming down to protect his side from another vicious attack. Bal pressed the attack, arcing his leg high, swinging for his opponent's head. Leonard's right fist crossed over to protect his head, taking most of the force of the blow, but still knocking him off center. Bal closed and began swinging tight hooks in on Leonard's head, landing five before the other elemental surrendered the protection of his side to ward his head.

Leonard staggered, bringing up his left hand as if to ward another blow. Bal grasped the arm at the wrist, kicking his legs up, the left passing under the arm and around the back of Leonard's body, while the right hooked up over his right shoulder. Using the momentum of his jump, Bal pulled Leonard over and onto the ground. Locking his right foot behind his left knee, Bal pulled back at the arm with his right hand, clearing it from providing protection as he began to shower Leonard's head with a series of left hooks. The other elemental sputtered, and squirmed, this prompted Bal to just pull back harder on the arm, extending his spine as he did, and pushing away at Leonard's right shoulder with his legs.

Leonard gave out a startled cry, "I yield! I yield! You have defeated me."

Bal, released the arm bar, and stood, helping Leonard to his feet. "I trust this matter is resolved?"

Leonard hung his head ever so slightly, "It is Star Captain, by virtue of combat, you have proved the rightness of your position, well bid and well fought, sir."

"Freitag is one of us, he is a fine warrior, and I would not have our ranks undermined because one of us happens to have some rather esoteric beliefs."

"Aff, sir."

"What the devil is going on here?" The gathered elementals turned to see Star Colonel Tethin Howell standing behind them, arms akimbo, feet spread apart.

"A disagreement, sir, it has been resolved." Bal offered.

"What bearing does this have on this Elemental Freitag?" He fired back.

"It was a disagreement centered around Warrior Freitag, sir."

"Should he not have been privy and fought his own battle?"

"It was not grievance directed at him, sir."

"Never the less, I think this is a matter that requires the attention of the Galaxy Commander, Christianity is dezgra, he may very well be consorting with those Inner Sphere dogs in Lootera."

Bal paled noticeably.

Scientist Regina stepped forward, her face a mask of indignation, "Star Colonel, I would venture to guess that Warrior Freitag has a longer more storied codex than you currently possess, I have seen no such mention on it of his personal values interfering with his duty."

"Good." The Star Colonel sneered, "The Galaxy Commander will find no reason to bring him up on charges of treason then."

Bal slowly walked back to the barracks, knocking at the door gingerly. A moment later the door opened. Freitag had a serene look on his face. "Star Captain, can I help you?"

From behind the Star Colonel shouted, "Warrior Freitag, front and center."

Freitag stepped from the barracks, taking up a position in front of the Star Colonel, standing at attention.

The Star Colonel looked down at his bare feet then back to his face, disgust written across his face. "I trust we did not interrupt your religious services."

Freitag remained calm, "Sir, no sir, individual religious practice has the advantage of being easily interrupted and resumed."

Bal was stunned to hear Freitag so readily admit "guilt" in the matter.

"Galaxy Commander Wirth will be interested to hear your take on this matter. Star Captain, Scientist Regina, you will accompany us, as will you." He pointed to Warrior Leonard, "We will see what he makes of all this."

Bal stood before the door bearing the plaque of Galaxy Commander Aldus Wirth with a sizable lump in his throat. His coergn had bumbled some protest about the Galaxy Commander leaving orders not to be disturbed but Star Colonel Howell had blown right past him and was even now waiting for the door to open. When they had reached the door the knock had come interrupting cries of pleasure issuing from within. The voice was high and feminine, venturing a guess, Bal had to assume it was his commander, Dahlia Moon. This was getting steadily worse. Further investigation after Freitag's revelation some weeks before had shown that the Galaxy Commander and Star Colonel were in an exclusive relationship with each other; now their lovemaking was being interrupted by an issue from his trinary, two hammers to come down on him at once. Bal closed his eyes, the muscles in his jaw bunching. This couldn't get any worse…except maybe for Freitag.

His friend was being accused of treason. In clan law, that was a mandatory execution. If the mood of the Galaxy Commander was swayed in the least by the interruption, it might be the end of the older elemental. Bal could not accept that, he would fight a trial of refusal if need be, but he would not let his friend be executed for having a more complex system of values. Bal glanced over to Freitag, knowing he must be full of concern and perhaps even fear in the face of the situation, instead, what he saw was the older elemental stood stolid and serene as they waited. Bal put a hand on Freitag's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Freitag turned to look at his younger friend and smiled appreciation. Bal nodded and mouthed, "It will be alright." Freitag mouthed back, "I know."

The door opened and Galaxy Commander Wirth did his best not to look irritated or embarrassed. Inside, on the couch, Dahlia Moon was putting her boots back on. There was a thin coat of sweat on the Galaxy Commander's forehead and his hair was disheveled. Star Colonel Moon was similarly flustered, her skin flushed, sweat showing on her face and arms, her chest still heaving as she laced the boots.

"Star Colonel, I trust you had adequate reason to disturb me."

As if to affirm what he was being disrupted from, Dahlia Moon bent down to pluck some piece of her undergarments from beside the couch, folding them into her BDU jacket which she threw over her arm.

"Galaxy Commander, I will take my leave." She said, her breath catching a little, trying as hard as possible to sound professional with her lover.

As she passed Wirth made eye contact a moment and Bal thought he saw the barest hint of a smile cross his face as Dahlia's eyes met his.

"We should be able to resume this discussion at zero one hundred, Star Colonel Moon."

"Yes, Galaxy Commander, I will be ever punctual."

They entered the office and Wirth took a seat behind his desk. "Now the, Star Colonel Howell, what was of such dire importance?"

Howell extended an accusatory finger at Freitag. "He, is a traitor."

Bal bridled at the accusation, taking a half step forward, ready to snap the bastard's neck.

"Star Colonel, those types of accusations are unseemly, I trust you have adequate reasoning behind such a profound indictment."

"I most certainly do, I will demonstrate that he…"

"Warrior…Freitag, is it? I would like to hear your take on this matter." Wirth interrupted.

"Sir, I submit that the Star Colonel's accusation is subject to interpretation. The treason to which he refers is my individual faith. I am a Christian, sir."

Galaxy Commander Wirth blinked widened eyes, about as genuine a display of surprise as could be expected of the ever stoic trueborn. "I had not thought that your kind existed among the Smoke Jaguars, please…continue."

"Sir, as you desire. Today, the twenty fifth of December, is the date that my kind celebrates the birth of our savior Jesus of Nazareth."

"By your kind, Warrior Freitag, I assume you mean Christians, I am not aware of any large religious propensity among elementals, and I know you are not Cloud Cobra abtakha."

Freitag nodded, "Yes sir, as you say, as a Christian."

"Very well, continue."

"I was in the act of celebrating the holy day in the privacy of the barracks, sir."

Wirth knitted his brows, "I was not aware that elemental barracks provided much in the way of privacy."

"That is where I came in, Galaxy Commander." Regina interjected.

"And you are?"

"Scientist Regina, Galaxy Commander. I accompanied Elemental Freitag, the others were under the conception that we intended…to engage in sexual behavior…so they left. I was, I suppose you could say, the 'red herring', sir."

Wirth rubbed his chin, "Well, it would seem Warrior Freitag has excellent taste in faux sexual partners. I am not sure there is a crime there short of him not completing the act Star Colonel."

Bal stifled a laugh.

Howell slammed his hand on the desk, "Christianity is dezgra! It undermines a warrior's convictions. He is likely consorting with the enemy!"

Wirth looked at the offending hand for a moment, then moving his eyes to Howell's face, who quickly withdrew his hand as if he had preformed some grave sin.

"Warrior Freitag, where do your loyalties lie?"

Freitag drew his head up, as if it was some great matter of pride. "This body, was given to me by the clan, so shall it always be that this body is Smoke Jaguar. My mind was trained by the clan, so shall it always be that my mind is Smoke Jaguar. Only my soul…is mine alone, and I give my soul to my God, sir."

Wirth leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin. After a long silent two minutes, he finally spoke, "Star Colonel Howell, Warrior Freitag, please remain here. The rest of you are dismissed."

Bal turned and left the office, holding the door for a moment for Scientist Regina to pass through then stepping into the hall. He closed the door behind him, then stood back against the wall.

"Scientist…"

"Regina."

"It will be in your best interests to leave. Freitag is one of my men, I would remain here to know what fate will befall him, no reason for you to get yourself into any further trouble."

"But…"

"Scientist Regina…these are matters that are not to be taken likely, please return to whence-ever you came. It is not in anyone's interest for you to exacerbate matters by remaining where you were bidden to leave."

The petite scientist nodded, and turned, heading back down the hall.

From inside the office, Bal could hear Howell's continued tirade, his voice raised to the point of shouting. An ever sinking feeling was forming in the pit of Bal's stomach, especially after the shouting was replaced by a low mumble. Bal waited, to hear a gun shot, or to see someone leave, over five minutes had elapsed when he heard a distinct protesting "But, sir…" followed by a resounding "DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR!" The question was bellowing, gravely, almost terrifying. A moment later, Tethin Howell emerged from the office, his face contorted with rage and embarrassment. Looking back once at the office, then to Bal he gave a hateful sneer then stormed down the hallway. Four more minutes passed, the Freitag emerged, turning back to the office he said, "Merry Christmas, sir."

Bal grabbed his friend by the arms and looked him in the face. Freitag looked relieved, and more than just a bit vindicated. "What happened?"

Freitag gave Bal a cryptic smile, "I will tell you, but first what do you say to a Christmas drink, Star Captain?"


	8. Chapter 8

Psi Galaxy Headquarters

Huntress

Kerensky Cluster

December 28, 3061

2338 GST

Warrior Jefferson felt a strong hand come down hard on his left shoulder. It was open palmed, fingers curled slightly, not a blow, a warriors greeting. Jefferson turned to look up at the young face of Star Commander Gordino.

"How do you fare Jefferson?"

"I am well, sir. Eager for battle."

"You carry a great weight on your shoulders, the future of freebirths in our touman rides with you. This does not make you nervous?"

"Neg, Star Commander, I intend to acquit myself as a Jaguar."

"That is quite a task even for a trueborn, how does a freebirth acquit himself as such?"

Jefferson bared his teeth in a predatory grin, "By fighting harder than a trueborn, sir."

Gordino arched his brow. He was not pleased about having the freebirth assigned to his star. Freebirths were inferior warriors, but Star Colonel Kotare rarely put his faith in individuals, his confidence in this low born was a clear sign that he sensed the potential for greatness in him. Gordino's star was set to be the testing grounds for a great experiment. If the experiment succeeded, Gordino would gain great honor, perhaps even command of a trinary. He acknowledged that Jefferson was clearly a zealot, marking his skin with the clan's namesake upon completing his OpFor trial of position. Jefferson was shrewd, and a good judge of his adversary. He ended several trueborns' trials of position quickly, allowing them one kill so that they would enter the touman as warriors, then stripping further glory from them in a calculated and merciless assault.

"You have been over your mech, quiaff? I want to be sure no neglect was placed on your vehicle."

"Aff, Star Commander, I made sure to the final preparations myself. She is an old cat, but her fangs and keen and her claws strong."

"Very good Jefferson. I wish to speak to you frankly."

"Always, Star Commander, I am at your service."

"Jefferson, you are a freebirth, and therefore inferior to a trueborn warrior…but you have been blooded in the fires of actual combat. Many of my warriors have never felt the sting of actual combat; I would ask that you ensure they perform as need be in action."

Jefferson nodded, "Do not worry, sir, I will see to it the cubs don't run."

Part of Gordino felt a strange sense of pride at commanding a combat veteran. Jefferson counted two Combine mechs as kills on Luthien.

"Very good, I would like you to act as the linchpin on our left flank. We must not let it fold or the whole trinary could be flanked."

"I will hold the line sir."

"I expect nothing less."

"How can it not be foolish to attack the repository a third time?"

"Belay that nonsense, Ophelia." Freitag barked.

"But, Freitag, they have to have reinforced heavily by now."

Freitag worked the charging handle on a 14.5mm anti-material rifle. "Those surats do not place any value on what is contained inside. The second the distraction draws their attention, they will abandon it as if it were a waste depot."

Givins growled indignantly, "Do not refer to the precious heritages as waste!"

"Think about it from their perspective, the genetic material means nothing to them." Miranda countered.

The elementals were in a frenzy of activity, readying their equipment for this latest raid. The order had come down suddenly; they would be striking the repository again, hoping to secure another few key genetic legacies from the holding facilities there. Star Colonel Dahlia Moon's 44th Cavalry would be forming the strike team with Star Colonel Sasher Kotare's 53rd Lancers acting as a distractionary and possible blocking force. Once again, Bal's nova trinary would be performing the smash and grab. By now, they knew the layout of the repository inside and out, the projected time between entry and exfil was five minutes; any other unit would take that long just to figure out where the giftakes were stored.

"Where is my stravag laser?" Ryer protested loudly.

Ophela stifled a giggle.

"Ryer, front and center!" Freitag bellowed.

"Freitag, what was done with my laser? I only have two manipulators equipped."

Freitag held up the anti-material rifle. "So you do not pull your back again."

Ryer affected an expression of deep hurt. Freitag pushed the weapon onto the young warrior who grudgingly accepted it. He turned and walked back to his armor to finish the check when Ophelia approached, leaning in she bit him playfully on the ear.

"I am firing extract for you, this time."

"I guess that means I will be massaging your sore muscles this time."

"Keep it in the pants, kids. Go time in four zero mikes." Freitag roared as he crossed the bay.

Star Captain Bal had been gesturing Freitag over emphatically, the older warrior was just now getting the opportunity to see what his commander and friend wanted.

Ever since the trial of grievance with Leonard, the young boyish face of Bal had taken on a decidedly hard and professional edge. Word was the Galaxy Commander would be awarding Bal the Osis bloodname in recognition for his exemplar service and martial prowess. The choice was controversial, but it was generally agreed that given the time to fight for it, Bal would surely triumph, this way they avoided unnecessary down time and possible injuries or deaths. Freitag felt very proud for his commander.

"Yes, Star Captain Osis?"

Bal shot him a look, "It is not official yet, do not jinx it."

Freitag hoisted an eyebrow, "Jinx? Are you getting superstitious, sir? If you are, I have a book you might like to read."

"You can attend to your missionary duties and my conversion after the mission. The Galaxy Commander is on his way down with Star Colonels Moon and Kotare, he wished to speak with me specifically."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but why am I here?"

"You are my Aide-de-camp."

Freitag straightened his back in a mocking fashion, whipping off his undershirt. "Sounds so official…"

Bal gave the elder elemental a half-grin, half-grimace. "Stow that until the Galaxy Commander is gone."

"Aye, sir."

"I'm telling you Aldus, upbraid that son of a bitch Howell and appoint Star Captain Bal as commander."

Dahlia Moon winced at Sasher Kotare's course language.

"Sasher, I think you must have spent to much time among those Inner Sphere stravags." Aldus Wirth intoned in his perpetual calm.

"Dogs that they are, they certainly did have a way of putting things without needlessly florid language. Howell is a son of a bitch, and dropping contractions in reference to him is not near enough disdain."

The epitaph held a completely different kind of vehemence when used in reference to a trueborn, the implication that not only had he been born of a living womb, but that the damn in this situation had been of loose scruples.

"So, you do not believe that Warrior Freitag's religious inclinations where deserving of attention?" Moon challenged.

"I think what a man…or woman…does with his or her free time is his or her own business." Sasher raised his head, looking down his nose at Moon and Wirth.

The implication was there, they knew it, they knew he knew it. His point was not an indictment, but rather placing the issue in context.

Aldus allowed a rare chuckle and a grin, "A point well made, old friend."

The older warrior grunted, "That is why you keep me around; guile coming with age and all that rot."

"I know it is a risk, but still…it is my belief that giving Star Captain Bal a cluster is a solid plan. The Bears have had pronounced success fielding elemental heavy units and Bal…what can I say…he might as well be Lincoln Osis reborn."

"I must once again protest formally," Dahlia intoned, arms crossed, head lowered thoughtfully, "I would wager to say his trinary is the best in Psi, it will hurt the 44th to lose him."

"Star Colonel, you have two full trinaries worth of Elementals that will be transferring in as soon as the transition is completed."

"Newly 'blooded' elementals if you can even call simulator duels a true blooding; they do not have the experience." Moon tossed back her head, her full blond tresses flying over her shoulder. She was taking the loss of her finest officer as a personal affront. She was angry with Aldus and was sure to let him know during their private time.

"And…you will train them, the 44th will once again become a line unit, I hope…pray…this snatch duty will be over soon, once our contacts are appeased…"

Kotare spat, "To think we whore out the precious blood of our heroic dead…."

"Enough!" Wirth's voice boomed in the lift, "This sickens me, more than you can comprehend, but this is our survival. Make no mistake, if not for this deal, we would be sitting here without a pen to write our own epitaph. One day justice will be done, and we will see those who sought to use us bled and consumed. But this is not that day. Would not a Jaguar sacrifice himself for the clan? Our heroic dead buy our chance to rise again with their costly shed blood."

Both Star Colonels lowered their heads, so shamed by the outburst of their commander. Sasher, facing the wall nodded slowly, "Seyla….forgive my doubt."

"The outrage is fitting, my old friend, but this is not the time or the place, hold onto the anger."

Wirth reached down and gently stroked the cheek of Moon, "And you…let the indignation fuel you."

Dahlia visibly pouted.

"Well, Bal should be excited enough," Aldus mused, "This new battlearmor promises to have 35% improved performance over the standard model."

Dahlia continued her pouting, "Yes, and sending him on an operation without having been given time to do field trials is foolish and dangerous."

"But Dahlia, this is a field test…it just so happens that it is also an operation."

"Dangerous none the less, what if they do not function properly?"

"Bal is an intelligent man, I am sure he would be able to deal with such an occurrence." Aldus soothed.

"For his sake, I hope you are right."

Patrol grid 98 Tango

Huntress

Kerensky Cluster

December 29, 3061

0212 GST

Dahlia Moon wove her _King Fisher Charlie_ around a rock outcropping, checking her ground effect Radar yet again, the scopes were clear…again. This kind of patrol had become tedious; no opposition, no enemies to dodge, just rocks and trees, and eventually a narrow path that ran between a series of buttes on the approach to Lootera. Two more kilometers and they would reach the rendezvous coordinates, then, they would power down and wait for the go code from Bal's infiltration unit. Throwing caution to the wind, the Elementals had outfitted six full points with the storage cylinders; that left only two points in each star for extracting the genetic materials, and one point for security and extraction. It was definitely a gamble, but if it paid off, there would be no need for additional raids on the repository.

"Panther six one, come back."

It was Mechwarrior Salvatore

"Panther six one, I copy, report."

"Six one, I am getting some strange readings, two zero five meters north by north west."

Dahlia once again checked her ground scan radar, "I show nothing Panther six eight, check for malfunction, quiaff?"

"Aff Six One, checking systems…negative on malfunction, radar functioning normally, all systems green."

"I copy." Dahlia contemplated a moment. It could be a magnetic anomaly or something stuck to his GSR housing, but on the other hand, it might also be a powered down vehicle or reconnaissance hide. "Panther six four, panther six six, move to anomaly coordinates and inspect, quiaff?"

"Copy, six one, moving out."

Mechwarrior Powel and Margaret's _Shadow Cats_ peeled away from the main formation and proceeded to the heavy growth that Salvatore had indicated. It took them scant seconds to reach the area.

"Pather six one, I am not seeing anything out of the ordinary, recommend…"

Dahlia's heart skipped a beat, "Panther six four, report."

"Oh stravag! Hostile target! Hostile target, weapons free!"

Two barely coherent green beams lanced from Mechwarrior Powel's _Shadow Cat_ into the brush, suddenly Dahlia's IFF transponder and GSR screamed as an unknown contact went from cold start to full power. A deafening sextet of resounding blasts shook the earth, the muzzle flash illuminating the night as Powel's Mech was shredded by Autocannon fire.

"Freebirth! Bring it down!" Margaret screamed over the comm.

To Dahlia's terror, the outline of a Direwolf was momentarily silhouetted against the night sky. Three lances of green connected the monstrous assault mech to Margaret's _Shadow Cat_ for a fraction of a second and a loud bang signaled the explosion of the capacitor of the Gauss Rifle in the mech's right arm. A chunk of the loading and breach mechanism from the shattered weapon cart wheeled through the air scything past Panther six three's _Mad Dog_, impacting hard just below Dahlia's cockpit.

"Returning fire!" Powel cried.

Nothing happened.

"Stravag! Gauss feed destroyed!"

Powel's mech limped to the side, the initial autocannon double burst had clearly destroyed the hip actuator on his mech's left leg.

Dahlia indexed both Particle Cannons and fired, the first shot going wide as the Dire Wolf deftly side stepped placing Margaret's stricken mech between itself and the remainder of the trinary. The second PPC connected with the behemoth's right arm, causing no appreciable damage.

The local band communications crackled to life, "I am Star Captain Jannisar Kirov of the 35th Scorpion Cuirassiers, what forces assault this pass?"

Dahlia's heart fluttered, "By what right do you issue batchal?"

"By what right do you pass through this territory?"

"You are not of clan Jade Falcon, quineg?"

"Neg."

"If you are an Inner Sphere dog, we do not recognize your petition for zellbrigen." Moon fired back.

"I represent clan Goliath Scorpion, you are not of clan Jade Falcon, your right to enter this area is not recognized."

"By what right does a Goliath Scorpion operate in Jade Falcon territory?"

"By leave of Galaxy Commander Malthus, if you do not recognize that authority, stand forth and let us have this out as warriors." Kirov growled back.

In the distance a low thump snatched Dahlia's attention. Sasher Kotare's Trinary had begun its attack on the SLDF guard post. The elementals would be beginning their raid in minutes.

Dahlia keyed over to her command line, "All panthers, prepare to open fire on hostile target on my mark."

Dahlia swallowed hard, indexing all her weapons systems.

"Panther six six, clear the line of fire. Panther six six, comply."

No reply came.

"Six one," it was Mechwarrior Jocelyn, "six six has minimal brain activity, the detonation likely has rendered six six unconscious."

"Stravag!"

"I await your reply, lest I be forced to kill you all." Kirov growled over the broad band.

The tone in his voice told Dahlia that this warrior believed he could do it. As if to confirm this fear, her lock alarm warbled indicating that the _Direwolf's_ GSR had just come online, up until now the Goliath Scorpion warrior had been firing without the aid of computer targeting.

"Wh…what do you offer against this pass should you be defeated?" Dahlia stalled.

"I offer possession of this pass, should you manage to defeat me."

"That is not a ransom of worth, if you are defeated you will already yield the pass."

"What then do you offer if you are defeated?"

"This is not the way of zellbrigen!

"Very well, so be it."

Dahlia's ears screamed in protest as a series of nine blasts ripped into her _Kingfisher_, alarms wailed as the gyro failed. Dahlia seized the controls, the metal and kydex biting at her hands as she struggled to keep the mech righted. Six individual pinpoints of green light flayed more armor away from Powel and Margaret, severing the leg on Powel's mech and coring through to the power plant on Margaret's.

Before she could issue issue an order to return fire, the coughing roar of jump jets pierced the night air as the _Direwolf_ lifted up and away, setting down on a rock escarpment and successfully obscuring the mech from direct fire.

"Panther six one, this is panther six two, permission to pursue."

"Negative, six two, all Panthers, withdraw the evac bravo. Panther six nine, confirm six four and six six, direct evac team to check for survivors."

"Aff six one."

Dahlia felt the sudden adrenaline crash coming on hard. Who was the Scorpion and why was he working with the Jade Falcons? The mission, she had to complete the mission, all other concerns were secondary, even Powel and Margaret. She could not fail, not now that they were so close.

Smoke Jaguar Genetic Repository, Lootera

Huntress

Kerensky Cluster

December 29, 3061

0217 GST

"What the hell was that?"

In the distance, the distinct rumble of an autocannon sounded.

"Maybe this one is hungry?" Freitag offered as he pulled binder cuffs on the hands on the Inner Sphere security trooper.

Bal turned his vision slit to look at the other elemental, "No, listen."

"Autocannon fire…"

"That is coming from the direction of Star Colonel Moon's exfil."

"Oh hell."

"Exactly." Bal turned over another of the security troopers, he was injured but alive. He secured his hands with pull binders and set him up against a wall.

"Ocelot two niner, status?"

"Zero two mikes, one one."

"I copy, have extract move to entrance." Bal bent down and plucked an assault rifle away from one of the unconscious security troopers, bending the barrel and crushing the magazine into the well, jamming the bolt.

"These new suits are a marvel, sir." Freitag offered as he ripped the bolt from the receiver of a sand bag emplaced crew served machinegun.

"They certainly are, even for being bigger, I can certainly appreciate the improved performance."

Five elementals emerged from lower in the repository, each clad in the new armor like that worn by Freitag and Bal. The young Star Captain took a moment to appreciate the fluidity of movement, it clearly outclassed the old primary battle armor by a wide margin. A few quick gestures with the improved manipulator and the infantrymen took up positions covering the door.

"Ocelot one one to Panther six one, assets secured, recommend exfil, over."

"Negative, negative, broken arrow, repeat, broken arrow. Exfil is hot, divert to evac bravo." Dahlia sounded breathless.

"Copy, six one, recommend set to condition two. Ocelot one one, out."

"Stravag!" Bal spat.

"Problem, sir?" Freitag, ever quick on the reply.

"Negative on evac alpha, exfil to evac bravo. We are going to have to hump this across the parade ground."

"Oh good, I thought we were going to stand out."

Bal had to chuckle, the idea of 75 elementals beating feet across the one kilometer open expanse of the parade grounds outside the repository seemed like tactical suicide. In broad daylight it would be inviting enemy fire, with the cover of night if anything short of a mech patrol spotted them, they would be out of the area before a response team could be brought to bear. It was not as if there was much of a problem that fifteen points of elementals could not handle, but the coolant canisters were not armored, and inside each was an immeasurable fortune of genetic wealth, nothing could be allowed to happen to even one canister.

"Ocelot one one, this is two niner, assets secured, ready for exfil."

"Copy, two niner, exfil to extraction point bravo."

There was a pause.

"Ye…yes sir."

From further in the repository, a cacophony of cloven metal footfalls came as the remaining 68 elementals of the trinary approached the exit.

Bal nodded to Freitag, dipping the body on his suit slightly. The elder elemental made a flurry of manipulator gestures and the two along with ten other heavily armed and armored elementals ran out into the courtyard facing the parade grounds.

The elementals formed a loose security wheel and surveyed the area, pushing the magnification on their night vision HUDs.

"Negative contacts, one one." The calm voice of Point Commander Caruthers intoned.

"Ocelots two niner, three niner, begin exfil."

At their commander's order, the elementals began pouring out of the repository in tight formation, the security detail and extraction elementals flanking the coolant canister laden carriers. In the humid night air, the sounds seemed muffled, even with the suits exterior sound gains cranked to the max. In the distance, they heard the battle between the Inner Sphere security patrol and Sasher Kotare's forces, but except for the steady thud of the elementals' feet on the cold ground, there was almost nothing.

Navpoint 026 Juliet

Huntress

Kerensky Cluster

December 29, 3061

0219 GST

_Great father, he fights like a madman._

Star Commander Gordino watched in mild awe as Mechwarrior Jefferson unloaded his complement of SRMs into an oncoming ALB-3U Albatross with what seemed to be no regard for the mechs superior size, weapons, and armor. Dashing from his star's line, he stabbed his two volleys of pulse laser fire from his Shadowhawk IIc's arms into the assault mech's right torso. The Inner Sphere pilot was having a hard time tracking the movement of the clan mech and dumped a burst of shotgun pellet LB-X series autocannon fire into a stand of trees. His SRM pack faired better, landing three missiles which sowed a series of small white hot pits up the right side of the lighter clan mech. Jefferson, seemed unfazed, unleashing the split second high intensity burst from his head mounted medium wattage laser. The beam liquefied a small hole in the right rear torso. It must have been close to coring through as the Inner Sphere pilot sharply turned his mech and began pulling back to his own skirmish line, clearly worried about a breach of his delicate internal structure and the bulky reactor shielding on his Extra Light engine.

"Star Commander, we are detecting another lance of enemy mechs approaching from the south east, range, 1700 meters." Mechwarrior Julia uttered in her breathless soprano from her _Huntsman _Primary.

"Affirmative, hold position. Bobcat three one to Tomcat, enemy reinforcements detected 1700 meters south east, moving on intercept course, please advise, over."

Sasher Kotare heard the report with no small amount of dread. The heavy company of upgraded Inner Sphere mechs were giving his relatively untested warriors in his striker trinary a fight. In all they had him on tonnage by a margin of about 1.8 to 1, and now another lance, undoubtedly part of the Assault company reserve was heading here now.

"Bobcat three one, apprise me of your situation, can you hold?"

There was a momentary pause, undoubtedly the young commander was checking on his units.

"Tomcat, be advised, ammunition level is moderate, negative casualties, we can hold a bit longer, but once our guns run dry…"

"Understood three one, hold zero three mikes, we will collapse the flank." Kotare let off a gauss round which burrowed deep into the centerline of an _Orion_, staggering the mech and causing a salvo of LRM fire to go high and arcing into the woods.

He was damn proud of his warriors, they had been holding their own in spite of the odds, he could ask little more.

Lootera Parade Grounds

Huntress

Kerensky Cluster

December 29, 3061

0225 GST

"Not to much further, I can see the apartments." Ophelia almost cooed over the short range to Ryer.

The sounds of the battle 10 kilometers away were little more than a series of thuds and pops, but they still managed to punctuate the night air all around Lootera.

"Stravag, sounds like Star Colonel Kotare is fighting half of the Inner Sphere over there."

Ryer held the stock of the anti-material rifle tight against the shoulder of his battle armor. The lower third of both arm cowlings had been removed so he could carry the weapon, there wasn't much it could do against anything larger than an APC or hover craft, but there was a sense of security in having a weapon. On his back, several generations worth of Smoke Jaguar warriors rested in a series of vials stored in liquid nitrogen.

"I wonder if we will be getting troll suits like the Star Captain and the strike team." Miranda queried over the same short range frequency.

"They are impressive, I would give a week's worth of recreation vouchers to take on of those out." Concurred Ryer.

"You never use those vouchers anyway, Ryer." Ophelia teased.

"Stow the chat, children. I caught movement." Freitag growled. "Warrior Clark, Ophelia, come with me."

Freitag took off in a quick sprint on an oblique course from the column to where he thought he spotted the movement, the two younger elementals on his heels. Three hundred meters out, he spied the unusual movement. A laborer of some sort, bundled up and crossing from the apartments to the city proper stopped dead in her tracks upon seeing the approaching elementals. She froze in place as Ophelia and Clark leveled their lasers at her. She must have seen her life flash before her eyes, on her way to work, and blasted to ash by errant elementals. Freitag raised a claw, indicating for the two other warriors to lower their weapons. The laborer fixed her eyes on Freitag, the new heavier troll armor clearly taking her by surprise, as if she was not already surprised enough. Her eyes shifted to right shoulder plate, fixing on the Clan Smoke Jaguar insignia, her jaw dropped, her eyes betraying her disbelief. Freitag extended a single finger on the manipulator claw, holding it just below his vision slit, the universal sign for quiet. The woman nodded emphatically, looking around as if to make sure no one else could have possibly seen the elementals.

"Sir, should we not detain her?" Clark inquired over the short range.

"Negative, she is not about to tell anyone who can stop us now." Freitag answered.

"At least knock her out!" Ophelia protested.

"Negative, she was one of us, rejoin the column."

"But…"

"No buts, rejoin the column warrior."

"Affirmative…" Ophelia was reluctant, taking a few jogging backward steps before turning and running back to her security position.

Over the external speakers Freitag spoke in a low whisper. "Our time has come, tell the others, the Jaguar is not dead, it only slept."

"Yes…yes, sir." The woman replied timidly.

"Be well." Freitag then turned and sprinted back to the column.

"We had contacts?" Bal's voice was higher than usual.

"A laborer, sir. She was one of the 'liberated' freebirths." Freitag replied.

"She was not a security threat, quineg?"

"Negative sir, chance of being compromised was exceedingly low."

"Once we hit the apartments, take bravo star and proceed to the evac."

"Sir, splitting the force?"

"We can move quicker that way, trying to march the column through the back alleys might create bottleneck."

"Affirmative, sir; I will head back to break off bravo. See you at the evac."

"You better." Bal shot back.

Patrol Grid 87 Delta

Huntress

Kerensky Cluster

December 29, 3061

0248 GST

Dahlia had been ghosted by the Goliath Scorpion for the last 20 minutes, each staying out of the range of the other. She wasn't sure who exactly was predator and who was prey at the moment. Was he making sure they wouldn't be able to flank around behind him and take him by surprise, or was he just waiting for a foul up on their part to exploit. She was not entirely sure why, but she found herself afraid. She cursed the fear, tried to bluster her way through it, but it was undeniable and concrete. There was something almost feral about this warrior, and she found that lack of predictability and the realization she knew of no way to counteract it frightened her.

"Panther six six; extraction team in place, still no sign of Ocelots."

"Six six, the Scorpion has moved to within 750 meters of our position."

Dahlia started in her command couch, "Does anyone have a clear shot on him?"

"Negative, negative, he is behind cover."

The Jaguar Command channel crackled to life, "Panther six six, this is Tomcat, advise on evac, over." Kotare had to practically shout over the sounds of battle.

"Tomcat, be advised, Cheetahs in place, no sign of Ocelot."

"Stravag, they had better hurry up, I am beginning a fighting withdrawal, I will hold the enemy as long as possible, but I cannot make any promises, over."

"This is Cheetah one one, I have Ocelots in visual range. Beginning extraction, ETD, zero five mikes, over."

Dahlia let out a relieved breath of air. "Copy one one, we will provide screen. Tomcat, get your bobcats out of there."

"Negative negative, we can hold them two more minutes, need enough time for full extraction of Ocelots."

"Stravag, Tomcat, you have to be getting chewed up, fall back, they should give chase a good two klicks."

There was a momentary pause, "Affirmative Panther, beginning exfil. Bobcats we are leaving!"

"Panther six six, the Scorpion is on the move!" Star Commander Georg Howell practically screamed into the local command channel.

"Vector?" Dahlia barked.

"Looks like he is arcing to Evac B, he picked up Cheetah!"

"All Panthers, move to intercept, we can not let him reach Ocelot!"

Dahlia wheeled her _Kingfisher_ around and began marching on an intercept course, she took solace in the fact that her mech could outflank the _Direwolf_, she was wholly unprepared for what she saw. The Scorpion mech was pushing close to 70 kph, far faster than was remotely possible in a standard _Direwolf_.

"Stravag! How is that possible?" Dahlia traced her targeting reticule over oncoming mech, ignoring the lead indicator and letting off a shot from each of her PPCs. They sailed wide, but caught the attention of this Kirov individual and he skidded his mech to a halt.

Dahlia was lining up for another shot when a sudden and impossibly bright light flashed her cockpit. The impact resistant glass blackened then shattered, cold air rushing into her cockpit and small safety fragments showering her.

"Star Colonel! Star Colonel! Please respond!"

The sudden rush of air and the sound of the glass shattering stunned her.

"Star Colonel! Panther six six, please respond!"

"I am unhurt."

The looming Direwolf was suddenly illuminated as the torso mounted autocannon spit a cascade of twelve 203mm HEAP rounds. The staccato bang felt as though it was going to rupture Dahlia's eardrum as she waited to feel her mech ripped apart around her. Before her mind could perceive anything else Mechwarrior Nimen's _Guillotine IIc_ seemed to come apart.

Dahlia tugged had on the firing stud on her stick, the shots flying wide by a margin of about 20 meters. She looked down at her hands, suddenly realizing she was shaking uncontrollably. The at once hot and cold ball of fear in her stomach became palpable, she felt the need to vomit, but she had her jaw clenched to tight to even wretch. A flurry of LRMs shot past her and painted the _Direwolf _with small explosions. The metal beast, turned, as if momentarily annoyed by insects, letting a single burst of high wattage laser fire fly back down the path from which the missiles had come, then taking three bounding steps ignited its jets, disappearing back into the blackness of early morning.

"We have no shot, we have no shot!"

"Damn the shot, get to Cheetah, now!" Dahlia shouted hoarsely into the comm..

"What of Nimen?" some undistinguishable voice protested.

"No life signs, Nimen is dead." Mechwarrior Jocelyn replied impersonally.

"All Panthers! Proceed to Cheetah, immediately!" Dahlia summoned more command in her voice.

"Affirmative, proceeding to rendezvous zero three, all Panthers, move out." Star Commander Howell affirmed, momentarily assuming command in the stead of his clearly shaken commander.

Psi Galaxy Headquarters

Huntress

Kerensky Cluster

December 29, 3061

0539 GST

"What the hell happened out there?" Aldus demanded, clearly flustered. It was unusual to see Galaxy Commander Wirth affected by anything, this had clearly thrown him.

"I do not know, damnit!" Dahlia cried, still trying to regain her composure.

"One…one single solitary freebirth Goliath Scorpion?" Wirth slammed his fist into the wall of the briefing room, particulate falling from the ceiling onto the conference table.

"Galaxy Commander, he announced himself as Janisar Kirov…he was clearly not a freebirth." Kotare was trying to help, it clearly didn't.

"He was one stravag warrior!"

"I have never seen anyone move a mech like that. Not that heavy…not that fast. And his gunnery…we were sitting ducks." Dahlia once again fell back into the shock of what she had witnessed.

"The battle-ROMs have it all, sir, Star Colonel Moon was clearly contending with a warrior unlike anything we have experienced." Star Colonel Marko Wimmer, who rarely spoke in briefings, offered.

Wirth paced the room, arms crossed, glowering as he did.

Star Colonel Belinda Furey cut eyes over at Sasher Kotare and arched her brows, her face showing a clear indication of concern. Kotare shook his head, this was universally bad. There was a long moment of silence, and then Wirth spoke again.

"What were our losses again?"

"One killed, two wounded. Three mechs lost or disabled. We salvaged the _Shadow Cats_, but they were total write offs, they are being stripped down for parts." Kotare intoned.

"And the repository raid?"

This was the one bright point of the mission as far as Wirth would see it, "We captured all the material sir, all the canisters were filled, the initial assessment from our scientists is that none of the material was damaged. Bal's mission was a one hundred percent success." Kotare said, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

Star Colonel Gregory Showers rapped the table with his knuckles, "Seyla."

"Seyla." The others intoned with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Wirth continued to pace, "Star Colonel Osis."

"Sir?" Devin Osis replied.

"I want your cluster to make a twenty kilometer sweep of our defensive zone with all possible expedience."

"It shall be done, Galaxy Commander."

"Everyone but Star Colonels Moon, Kotare, and Furey are dismissed."

The others rose and left, leaving the four in the office.

Belinda Furey rose and crossed to a credenza on which were arrayed pots of coffee and foam plastic cups. Furey was an older warrior, younger than Kotare, but older than both Wirth and Moon. She kept her hair up in a tight bun and her appearance could best be described as "bookish." She had been in line for the position of Smoke Jaguar lore master before the invasion by the inner sphere and now acted in the duel role of proctor of the Psi Galaxy training programs and commander of the 703rd Strike Cluster.

"Well Aldus…what more is there to say now?"

Wirth shook his head, "This just got more complicated."

"Belinda is right, Aldus, there is nothing else that can be done." Kotare added.

"If we have this kind of attrition to look forward to, we will run out of warriors and weapons for them to use before we can process our sibkos through. We cannot afford a war with Goliath Scorpion…we cannot even afford one with Jade Falcon…but now other clans are sticking their nose into it, how long until every clan has warriors here for the Jaguar hunt?"

Furey poured the contents of several sugar packets into a cup of coffee, giving it a perfunctory stir then sipping the contents. "I do not believe that attrition is what we need to be afraid of; it's the fleecing that is going on elsewhere."

"God, do not remind me." Wirth brought a hand to his forehead.

Kotare grimaced. "Aldus, we can not fault you for having to be privy to these underhanded dealings, but it must end today."

"It shall, I will not allow us to be prostituted any longer."

Wirth crossed to Dahlia, sitting down in front of her, "Are you alright?"

Dahlia chewed on her thumbnail, "I will be…alright. I thought that was it for a moment there. Aldus, you have to believe me…he was inhuman. We would fire and he just would not be there anymore, then he would disappear, just like that. It was almost like he was a specter or phantom."

"I do not care about that, are _you_ alright?"

She looked up, meeting his eyes and nodded. Wirth gave the top of her left thigh a reassuring squeeze then stood up.

"Very well, let me go about this unpleasant business."

Galaxy Commander Aldus Wirth stood in front of the holobank located in the here-to-fore unused CIC. Technicians patched the communications through a hidden HPG relay and transmitted it to some proxy relay elsewhere in clan space; none other that Wirth knew where or who the communications were going to. A panel lit up on the holobank, "Transmission beam coming through, Galaxy Commander."

"Patch it through."

"Affirmative, here it is."

The holobank projected a field of static and code, a prompt for an encryption key came up, which Wirth entered. The lines of code rearranged themselves into an image.

"Galaxy Commander, I trust you have secured the assets."

"We have, the assets will be transferred to the specified location for pickup at the specified time."

"I will have to amend the list, it has come to our attention that there are several other samples that we have interest in acquiring."

Wirth frowned, "I was not aware that this was a compact that could be so easily amended."

"This is an interesting situation, Aldus Wirth, you do not find yourself in a position to protest and I do not find myself in a position to make concessions."

Wirth tightened his fists, grinding his teeth. "How many additional names?"

"Few, there are a few names of interest that came to our attention, Lincoln Osis for example."

Wirth's head shot up, mouth wide in shock, "I can _not_ agree to that! It is…blasphemous!"

"You are not in a position to disagree. We will have that sample, but because we are generous, I have provided for adequate payment, you do still require vehicles and ordnance, and I can be very generous when I get what I want. We will have the samples…and in return you can field another cluster."

Wirth hung his head, feeling broken. The needs of the clan outweighed the honor of the clan, he would have to endure the dishonor so that the Smoke Jaguars could survive.

"Very well, Khan Zalman, we will prepare the additional samples."

"Very good, my courier will arrive within the week, then the exchange can take place."

Wirth raised his head defiantly, looking back at the enlarged holographic image, "Then this concludes our dealings."

"Oh, not by any stretch of the imagination, Galaxy Commander; you are still far to weak to stand on your own, if you wish to continue to have your presence anything other than a matter of record, you will continue to comply with us. I will contact you with further instructions at a later date, farewell."

The signal cut and the image faded away. Wirth stood there, rage seething through his gut. The Smoke Jaguars were not dogs to be used to do others' fighting. He would see to it that when his presence was made known, that the Clan Council would hear it from his own lips and Perigard Zalman and his confederates would pay for their despicable dealings. One day, he would feel the Jaguar's teeth at his throat, and he would know the foolish mistake he had made trifling with a cat to big for him to handle.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer:

If it doesn't appear in a source book or authorized publication, it's my intellectual property. Everything else belongs to Wizkids and/or Fanpro or contractual agents there-of. © 2001-2009 FanPro, LLC. © 2001-2009 WizKids, Inc.  
MechWarrior, BattleMech, 'Mech and AeroTech are registered trademarks of WizKids, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

All refrences to the Clans, Star League, as Well as specific Historical characters is done under the provision that the author will not profit from their use.

The author has not received fiscal (either monetary or in the form of services) compensation for the creation and publication of this piece. Attempts to solicit the author for rights to the text, characters, or ideas contained here-in will be considered as constituting a breach of the user agreement and will be immediately reported.

* * *

**Battletech: Resistance**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Dropship Scylla

Huntress

Kerensky Cluster

December 29, 3061

1341 GST

______

Technician Rochelle looked at the pitting in the armor of Khudkha and sighed.

"I remember there was a time he would come back without a mark on him."

The cored armor wasn't penetrated deep, most of it could be repaired with heat bonded patches, but it was still more work than she was used to when it came to basic maintenance. When her master had refused the forth kill in his first trial of position pleading the case of the warrior who had damaged the mech he had downed, he had been given the Direwolf as Ransom. The clan had known they were gaining a warrior whose piety and humility was rivaled only by his skill, and thus they deemed to give him the most powerful platform available from which he could honor the clan and the seeker movement. He had said after his first day running the mech through trials, "Khudkha wishes to run, he can not as he was made, we must free him to run as he wishes."

At the time Rochelle was convinced that the warrior to which she was assigned was mad, whether by some defect in his genetic code or his first ingesting of Necrosia, but she immediately received authorization to do as she was bade.

The type 50 Fusion plant had not been easy to come by, and it took many weeks of pestering the quartermaster and a few judicious bribes and favors before one was sidetracked from its destination to come to her motor pool on Roche. Before even placing the power plant in the mech housing, she stripped away the Type 4-R Ultra 5 Series cannons and Mk. 46 Type 4 LRM launcher. But he had stopped her, telling her to let Khudkha speak to her, tell her what he desired to wield against his enemies. She had sat in the cockpit for hours, contemplating configurations with the remaining space, toying with the idea of incorporating a custom Ferro Fibrous skin. Five days later, she still had no idea how "Khudkha" "wanted" to be outfitted. The entire time her master had been patient, when she inquired if the delay was inconveniencing him he simply had stated, "Khudkha is not always easy to hear, given time he will speak to you." She actually started to wonder if she was somehow impaired. Mechs were things to be maintained, upgraded, and repaired, they did not speak to her, or, as far as she knew, any other technician.

On the sixth day she had given a technician in an adjoining motor pool a particularly big favor and he picked the lock to her master's quarters while he was gone. She hoped beyond hope that some clue in his quarters would tell her what "Khudkha" wanted. On his desk, sheet after sheet of paper lay. Mad rantings, disjointed manifestos, and introspective treatises on the state of "being" lay like broken corpses amid tactical analyses, scrawled battle plans, and carefully hand written essays on tactical and strategic planning. Holding fistfuls of papers, she sat on her master's bed, lamenting the fact that his madness was the result of genius, and bemoaning the fact that his genius would, as it invariably did to all warriors, prove to be his undoing.

Rochelle had all but forgotten what it meant to be trueborn. She had washed out of training shortly out of her crèche. Her propensity for tinkering and her dearth of martial inclination had become apparent early on. In a way, she was to technicians what her master was to warriors, a skilled worker born. She was as much his ransom as his mech, though the clan never viewed it that way. The orders had been, "Give Star Captain Janisar the finest young technician you have, one not broken by the bureaucracy and matters of protocol." Barely out of his teenage years, had he been viewed as the future of the touman, and similarly, she the future of technical caste. To think on it know, she realized the honor and recognition of her ability it had been. As she sat there, lamenting her master's plight, and, by proxy, hers, one sheaf of paper had born the most focus, it above all others had born the most attention of her master. His understanding of Zellbrigen, as put forth on the paper had been brilliant, even if his math lacked somewhat. Attention to the configuration was born out by the erasers marks and scrawling in the margins as he worked and reworked the same basic idea.

On the seventh day, she begged the presence of her master at the motor pool, then spoke to him her first great lie. In the florid language her master so adored she had said, "Khudkha spoke to me…at his right breast, he would have a short bow of taught sinew and quick draw, though his eyes will not see far, he will drive its arrows deep into the foes that come aside him. At his left breast, he will bear a spear, that he may drive at foes that fear to face him, a hot goad that will remind them of who they face. In his hands, long knives that will cut clean any who dare pass the draw of his bow."

It was a convincing performance, at least to her master, she had spent hours fiddling with the wording. Learning what she could about the genesis of the name "Khudkha" she had found it was of Kalkuk Mongol origin, thinking back to what she knew of the ancient culture, she had decided to appropriate their martial culture in her supposed "conversation" with the mech. He had almost wept, and he kissed her on both cheeks, words failing him in his ecstasy. Without further words, he walked away, looking to the heavens as if to thank them that Khudkha loved her as he did him. The Model SH Ultra-20 Autocannon, the series 3K Extended Range Laser, and the six Series 7Ja Extended range lasers were easy enough to come by, the complicated part had been the assembly of the Endo Steel fuselage to marry the Type HH34 armor to. She had been able to draw on a substantial pool of technicians to complete the task. She worked and coordinated the effort with a fervor that drew the attention of a Star Colonel, who had subsequently challenged her master for "possession" of her. To this day, the memory of the honor duel fought with bared bodies and callused fists elicited a mixture of emotions in her, the feeling of his body, slick with sweat and blood as he embraced her as his isorla, defying any of the other warriors present to stand forth with their claim to her, still echoed in her mind and in the nerves of her skin.

Oh, how the seven years since those days had progressed. Now her master was preeminent among the seeker movement, and his star was on the rise in the clan, the only thing that seemed to be able to anchor his ascent was himself, and his almost single minded devotion to his precious necrosia. The necrosia, and by virtue of, his visions were his true mistress, and he worshiped at her feet. She had found him more than once laying naked amid the mud, sweat and vomit his vision seeking had brought forth. Still, she carried on, bearing him back to his bed or wrapping him in her own coat, because she loved him, in ways she could not even understand.

"Rochelle, what do you want to tackle first?"

Pulled from her reverie she looked over to Jarred, the freebirth "mate" with whom she shared her bed, her sorrow, and her hopes. Jarred was Isorla, taken by her master from the Zeta Prime Galaxy of Clan Ice Hellion. That had been another adventure in another time. Jarred had fallen to her master, as had many freebirth warriors that day, but it had been his defiance, his sense of drive and refusal to cower that had so impressed her master. Even as he had flayed Jarred's mech to its Light Endo Steel V5 bones, the master had declared with great conviction, "This is a man worthy!" She had twice been full with Jarred's child, before some accident took the unborn from her. Both times, her master had wept, and both times Jarred's comfort was the only thing that prevented her displaced bondsref. Being a mother was a kind of bondhood, and she had worn her pregnancy as a kind of bondcord, when that cord had been severed prematurely, she had wanted to die, it was a failure and in a strange way, the loss of something she had wanted. Perhaps the fact she had spent most of her life among freebirths, living and working with them that the idea of bearing life by natural means hadn't bothered her.

She smiled at her lover, an expression that caused his hard and precise eyes to soften into something gentle, something that she could fold herself into on the coldest nights when temperature and despair threatened to steal the life from her.

"Let's get the easy part out of the way first; the crenellation on the right arm has to be dealt with first. Neville can strip the torso and leg plate and have Jezira begin heat bonding the cratering."

Jarred saluted with a crispness and formality she had never progressed far enough in training to know, "On your command, chief."

"By the way, where is the Star Captain?" Rochelle inquired, her sense of curiosity burgeoning. He rarely walked away from his mech after a battle with such intensity in his eyes before. He had, in fact, always been intensely interested in finding out how repairs would progress and would always be sure to download his battle ROMs personally, this morning he had done none of that.

"When last I saw him, he was in his quarters, cracking the venom."

Rochelle let out a heavy hearted sigh, "One day, it will be the end of him."

Jarred balked at the assertion, "Please don't say that, I have grown far to found of him, and I dare not think what would happen if my bondcord where suddenly to be in limbo."

* * *

Janisar Kirov stood alone in his quarters, the sound from the antediluvian song washing over him; a song from a time when man warred over the petty and infertile soils of Terra. Great armies, whose fiscal budgets and size per capita rivaled the clan war machine. Their war was no less ridiculous than the clan drive to capture the singly insignificant "cradle of humanity." The song did not reflect the time, except in the most occluded and passing way. Through research he had learned the song was not even definitive of the genre it attempted to mimic, but rather borrowed from it, because there was inherent beauty in the truths of its simple style. He was naked before the heavily stringed and electric produced chords, both literally and spiritually. His right heel was compelled to follow the unheard underlying beat; one, two, three four. His arms stretched wide, not only because he was prepared to accept the wisdom the necrosia would gift him with, but also because the song demanded he do so, not a spoken command, but a subtle underlying current that drove him to obey.

He had acquired the song as some detritus that lay in a Star League cache he had found just before the conclusion of his tenure as a seeker. As scientists attached to the seeker movement poured over the data, they had processed this piece of data. It existed as nothing more than an audio data file, the contents of which they deemed insignificant. The Temple of the Nine Muses regarded it as nothing of value, so it had been returned to Janisar on a data chip as a token…a trinket he could carry to represent his "monumental" finds. The original was contained in a format long since relegated to obsolescence, the chip a tangible and interactive means by which he could display what he had achieved. Many a seeker had nothing to show for their quests other than some cast-off piece of flotsam that had at one point lied within or near a Brian Cache, the fact that the trash he had obtained carried some degree of function was considered a coup among the seeker movement. Upon his first review of the audio, he was struck by how poor the vocalization was, of course the comparison was measured by the skill of spoken word and sung "heralds" that were spawned of the seeker cause. In time, he began to appreciate the "raw" realism of the vocals. The concepts had remained alien for some further time until his research had shown the significance to the butchered English.

The events he had experienced mere hours before suddenly became pertinent. His own genetic legacy; his "male" gene parent being a seeker himself, suddenly placed the Jaguar raid in a new light. He knew powerful visions and omens lay just beyond the realm of his conscious mind, and he must walk amid them before he could proceed in his mission. He had been sober…no…deprived of the gift of necrosia during his battle with the Jaguars outside Lootera, and as such the portents of the battle had evaded him. Even as the warning about the molting echoed in his mind, he had imbibed the necrosia so that the events past and the events that lay before him would become clear. Today the necrosia had been almost sour on his tongue; he had tried to justify this in his still lucid mind as the placement of his tongue as the fluid touched it. However, deep in his soul, part of him knew that the necrosia's omens would be as bile in his mouth. As the notes washed through his naked soul and body, the persistent aftertaste became sweet, the visions he would receive would burn like acid in his waking mind, but his soul would be cloyed by the sweetness of truth.

Even as his mind regressed, to the image of his own DNA, the crude tangible representation of what made him, him, he began to feel the regression into genetic memory; a concept that bordered on blasphemy. The clans worshiped the idea of one's predecessors, but only in as much as it justified one's cause for existence. The scientist cast had vehemently denied the idea that genes carried with them some form of higher understanding that belonged only to the sentient mind. In this way, the clans were not too dissimilar to the Inner Sphere "barbarians" they sought to enlighten or quell as the individual political inclinations might be. The words of an ancient poem he once perused momentarily interposed over the lyrics of the music. "Ain't it wrong the way the mind roles back?"

Suddenly he found himself on some unknown world…something told him the world was Dagda, though he was not sure why. He was crouched in some sullied alley, clearly in a freebirth section of an unnamed township, watching a strange event unfold. Carrion and vermin feasted on the body of some unknown creature amid metallic trash bins, the carcass was fetid and writhed with all manner of filth, but in the barren area, it represented sustenance and continued life to those with the will to sit at the rotten banquet. Upon one of the trash bins a mottled and sickly cat skulked; the domestic variety, neither native to the Kerensky Cluster nor the Pentagon Worlds. The feline was half starved to death, ribs pronounced against its ashy grey coat. It eyed the rotting remains with hunger, as vile as the meat may be; it represented protein and continued life for that cat. A moment frozen in time; revealing the pronounced row of nipples on the cat, for it was a mother, and had suckling young at its nest waiting for life giving milk, milk that could not be obtained lest the mother feed.

The carrion birds and vermin stood superior over the lone feline; the former capable of killing with a blow of the beak or talon, the latter killing be the swarm and the venom of their bite, yet the feline conspired. In testament to its evolutionary superiority, the lean cat created a distraction, knocking over a collection of wastefully discarded cans. The carrion birds rose in alarm, suspecting a larger predator, the vermin scurried for the cover of darkness, and the feline took her place, tearing off and swallowing mouthfuls of foul meat for the sake of her offspring. One carrion bird, strangely magnificent sat on the corner of a building on which it had lighted, allowing the creature to feed, knowing that when the carcass was once again free, it would take the place of primacy.

The visions left him as soon as they came, and he fell to the floor, retching, his gut bringing nothing to his throat but burning bile and a reminder of his own mortality. As the sickly reddish brown ichor left his lips he invoked the thanks of the seeker.

"Praise be unto the alchemists whose gift this is, and praise be unto the Khan Shandra Dinour, for invoking the Scorpions tail, without the death that Moreau denied." His muscles burned, his mind reeled, and color had taken on a strange morphed quality. In his ears he heard his own heart pounding, the omens; it was suddenly clear even as the ancient recording sung the lines: "My daddy was a bank robber, but he never hurt nobody…" His gene father, Greg Dinour, a seeker whose career in the movement was punctuated with never having to issue challenge or engage in a trial of possession for his finds was like the character in the song. So, too, had the Jaguars raided the repository, not killing a soul in the attack. Certainly several of the security detail had been injured, but they would live and return to duty with time, this was profound in that the Smoke Jaguars had always been known for their brutality and seemingly cavalier disregard for life.

"They are fighting for their survival."

The cat in the visions was the Smoke Jaguar, the resplendent and patient carrion bird was the Jade Falcon Clan, and the vermin…who then were they? Perhaps the Star League Defense Force? Something told him this was not the case, but he could not be positive, he would have to seek more wisdom in the visions at a later date as events continued to unfurl, but then where did he stand in the visions? He had a mission to complete here, to help resolve the issues and preserve his clan's position on Abysmal, but it was not clear what role he would actually play. He suddenly realized he did not want to interfere with the survival of a clan, it was not his position to say whether a clan should live or die, he also felt that his Khan did not deserve that say either, only the unfolding of events, the great mechanic of the cosmos could claim that right. This mission was like the bile in his mouth, sour and foul, but he would discharge his duty, as long as he drew breath that was his mandate and his lot.

He had killed, discharging his duty this very morning, this lay a great burden on his soul. But he would have to endure, to press past that and continue his duty. His very birth had been with the idea that he was to serve, to question that mandate was to question his existence. Now he had to be a solider…not longer a mystique or seeker, he was an officer of his clan and it would not be fitting nor would there be any beauty in not behaving accordingly. For to long his clan had been viewed with a mixture of pity and disdain, this was the opportunity to paint his clan in a new light, before the very eyes of those who once sought to criticize it. There was beauty in vindication, in forcing one to think beyond their preconceived notions, this would be his quest.

But there was no glory, no vindication, and nothing resembling officer behavior about sitting naked in his quarters reflecting on dreams and portents. Rising to his feet, a sudden and pronounced feeling of sobriety washing over him, he crossed to one of the lockers in his stateroom. Opening it sat a fresh uniform marking him as an officer in the 35th Scorpion Cuirassiers. He would go and present himself to the commander of the Star League Enclave, providing information regarding what he had observed and request information so that he may coordinate with them. His mandate on Jaguar Prime had been remarkably ill-defined by Khan Suvorov beyond discovering Smoke Jaguar intentions and ensuring the security of their Abysmal holdings. It occurred to him that this course of action would invariably be questioned, but he was certain that coordination with indigenous forces on Jaguar Prime would be the most logical course of action for fulfilling his mandate. Pulling on his undergarments he leaned his head out of the door and shouted, "Valerie, I have need of you."

From down the hall a petite woman came scurrying. Valerie was his "herald" though he had taken to referring to her as his "scribe." In her current capacity she acted something more akin to a secretary than as a chronicler. Upon reaching the door she looked up at the much taller warrior, "Yes, sir?"

"I need for you to arrange for me to meet the commander of the SLDF enclave in Lootera, I need to go over the events of earlier this morning but I am not looking forward to the idea of being detained while everything is sorted out."

She nodded, "I'll get right on that, anything else?"

"No, that is all."

She nodded and scurried off in her mousey way to begin making contact with the appropriate people. Janisar wanted to do nothing quite so much as sleep right now, but this was the nature of duty, and he would no more shrink before it than he did from anything else he had come up against.

* * *

Office of the Khan

New Kent

Kerensky Cluster

December 30, 3061

0415 GST

______

"Khan Koga, I believe it is clear that there must be a policy shift. Events have swung so far out of our control that it is now time for us to reassert authority and control. With their victory in the late…conflict, the falcon has become preeminent. They are bending the ways of the clans to suit themselves, they forge alliances with Vlad's wolves, they have forgotten the ways of the clans, so focused are they on their invasion corridor."

The holographic image of the Coyote Khan extended an interjecting hand, "These are bold assertions Khan Zalman, but I cannot help but wonder at the nature of this venture. You are asking us to give you our backing, but we are not entirely sure what it is we are backing and to what end. I surmise that you plan another war with the Jade Falcons, what can make you assume that this one will fair better than your last?"

Sullivan Koga's verbal barb was calculated, she was attempting to force a better bargaining position for herself and her clan, Zalman had counted on this, and was more than prepared to play right into her supposed trap.

"The Falcons hold six percent of the world Marshall, if the Falcons were to lose many of their homeworld holdings, say, the six percent of Marshall, it would present for you an excellent staging area to avenge the wrong visited onto your clan by the Star Adders."

Koga once again interjected, "That is well and good Khan Zalman, and if you could guarantee such a defeat for the Falcons."

And now he would tip his hand, but that was also a calculated move. Reaching into a coat pocket he pulled forth a small piece of film, "Khan Koga…do you know what this is?"

Koga folded her arms, clearly impatient about the unnecessary political maneuver and deception, "It is a printout of a genome…I have seen many, what is the significance?"

"But do you know whose it is?"

"I would not be able to venture a guess…yours?"

"Lincoln Osis."

"Fascinating, what pertinence does this bear?"

"Do you know why I have it?"

"I could not begin to imagine."

"Because his genetic legacy is even know being combined with the material of one Star Captain Marcus Chapman in our labs as an unnamed male gamete."

Koga's expression betrayed her confusion, "But how is that possible?"

"My esteemed Khan…when the Smoke Jaguars fell, they fell to Inner Sphere dogs who bore neither the right nor claim to solemn duty of Annihilation, that is a right that rests only among the clans. But, as in all ventures of theirs, they were neither thorough nor effective, and a remnant of the clan Smoke Jaguar remained, a remnant that is even know making war on Huntress, with my backing of course."

Koga was momentarily horrified, "You have kept this from the council? That…that is treason!"

"What if the council had been informed? The annihilation would have been finished by another clan, and the carcass would have been picked clean, each clan fighting for the scraps. What would have been served by that? Let me not even begin to speak of the annihilation itself. That fool Victor Steiner Davion should never been afforded the courtesy of Safcon to enter clan space in the first place. They had not proven themselves worthy of the honor yet."

Koga lowered her head, arms still crossed, face showing deep thought, "These are indeed valid points, Khan Zalman."

"Would it not be better that the Jaguar be reborn, allowing them to learn the errors of their ways? The defeat they suffered was punishment enough, they did not merit annihilation. For as misguided as they were…they had honor. Would it not be better to bring them into the fold of the Warden Ideology…to bring them into our fold?"

Koga lifted her head, "What do you propose then, Khan Zalman."

"I need only from you backing in the form of materials. We may disguise our complicity by fighting limited trials of possession on New Kent: a factory or town that changes hands every few months, shortly after a shipment of military supplies for example. In return, you can count on our support not only in annexation of the Marshall territory and in your war against the Star Adders. I also wish to, what is the term…sweeten the deal. I know your elemental program has suffered, with only one blood line exclusive to your people, variation is the genome is limited, we have another of genetic heritages acquired from the Jaguars that we would be willing to share."

"This offer and your thoughts intrigue me Khan Zalman, but my optimism is cautious and my suspicions are not assuaged, I will have my analysts look at the events on Huntress, if there is foundation in what you are claiming, you will have my partnership in this endeavor, but at this moment I must regrettably withhold from committing to any action."

"I trusted as much would be your course of action my esteemed Khan, I had counted on the fact that you would approach the matter with caution and pragmatism, if you had not, I would have questioned the soundness of the alliance myself." Zalman bowed his head slightly. It was again a calculated response, playing to Koga's sense of pride.

"Very well Khan Zalman, I will have my people begin investigating and I shall have an answer for you one way or another by the end of the week. Farewell, Khan Perigard Zalman."

"And you as well, Khan Sullivan Koga."

With that the transmission ended. The room was dark for a moment as the lighting adjusted. Zalman crossed his arms with a self assured and satisfied smile.

"A bold gambit, but will it work?" The short fiery haired aerospace phenotype stepped from a corner.

"Khan Taney, your doubt is disturbing."

"You need not worry about my backing, I have already caste my lot with you in this endeavor, but are you certain you can deliver Koga?"

"Her investigation will yield evidence that Jade Falcon is trying to suppress what is occurring on Huntress, but she will likely also learn that even now, Victor Steiner-Davion is en route to Huntress with a regiment of elite SLDF soldiers. Being bourn their in secret by assets of Clan Wolf." Zalmans words dripped a type of venom.

He had nearly jumped out of his skin when his spies had informed him of this latest development. He could not even begin to imagine what had led to this course of action on the part of Vlad Ward, but it was powerful ammunition to have should he need to make political power plays in the Grand Council. A revelation like this could destroy careers, shatter entire clans, or allow him to blackmail his way into positions conducive for his clan and his own career.

"What? I was not aware of this! Why had you not informed me of this?" the shorter Ice Hellion Khan roared.

Taney was enrage, predictably so, the Hellion Khan could not be counted on to keep this information secret…that is until he was irrevocably tied to Zalman's plot, thus the Steel Viper Khan had not informed him and would not have until he was sure that he was firmly in his corner. Now seemed as good a time as any to tell him, it also had the double advantage of giving Taney a hint of exactly how much he knew. If the Ice Hellion Khan had any sense at all he would have to assume that Zalman had equally damning or damaging information about him or his clan and thus would find it in his best interest to hold loyal to the secret alliance.

"The information I feed to others is not your concern Khan Taney; the events as they were unfolding on Huntress and the chance to spit in the face of the Jade Falcons and Wolves was sufficient enough cause for you to back this endeavor. You would be made aware of it in time, and so you have."

"Do you not see how this changes things? Collusion between the Wolves and the ersatz Star League…this is information for the council!"

Zalman turned to face the smaller man, "And so it shall be, at which point we can leverage it to our maximum benefit."

"Impossible! Kael Pershaw's watch will…"

"Say nothing of it to the council. Pershaw is Falcon through and through, he will say nothing that jeopardizes his clan and Khan."

"What do you mean? Khan Pryde could weather any storm brought about by the discovery of the Jaguars."

"But she could not weather the storm of collusion with Davion…she was present on Tamar the day of Davion's arrival, she left for Ironhold mere hours after Davion departed for Tukayyid to assemble his forces and even know the Falcon Guard and her Freebirth Irregulars make for Huntress."

"So, this is what I have placed my clan's lot with…a spy master?"

"Only a fool does not watch what occurs around him, adequate intelligence on the movements of your enemies is crucial for a good leader, I would not dare make that mistake again, Khan Taney."

"That is true, but is it not chalcas to spy on one's enemies?"

"No more so than employing proper reconnaissance before a battle."

"I yield the point then." Taney had calmed substantially now. "But this still does not answer the problem of success. Can you guarantee it?"

"My esteemed Khan, you do not place enough faith in the Jaguar Fighting spirit."

"No, the fact that I do is what concerns me. How will they be able to succeed? Their assets must be stretched thin, and a pittance of resources here and there will not be able to give them the forces they need, and then what of loyalty? A mad dog will just as soon attack the hand that feeds it, quiaff?"

"I hold a valuable hostage, you seem to forget that. Their pride, their sense of continuity and the legacies of their honored dead…I hold a few names of great value to them, and as long as they serve, the have a chance of seeing them again. Would their clan be so willing to turn on us if it meant the loss of Leo Showers and Lincoln Osis to them forever?"

"Still, what of the supply and manpower issues?"

"They have been training sibkos in secret, they have an abundance of manpower, and the longevity to continue to produce warriors for a long time, and as for assets, I have a deal in the works with the Diamond Sharks…a cunning plan really." Zalman gave another self satisfied smile, the upset at the hands of the Falcons had forced him to adapt and evolve as a leader. In a way, the defeat had been the best thing for him, he was ever more the Viper now, lying in wait, watching around him, manipulating events…but when the time came, he would strike with a power none would be able to counter. "I recently brokered a deal with them, I am ceasing Harjel production and the production of our Type twenty Great Bow LRM systems for anything beyond a bare minimum for our own use, the result is their share of the market will increase markedly. They have my oath that we will give them 5 years to exploit these markets, in return we have been promised shipments of their stripped down production chassis. The only think they lack is weapons, which can be dealt with via other avenues, but there will be mechs for the Jaguars to make war with. And of course you, Khan Taney, will watch your clan become preeminent in the Crusader camp when the Falcons are gutted and Vlad Ward is ousted from the Wolves upon his collaboration being revealed."

Taney smirked, nose in the air, trying to appear regal but failing miserably, a fact that he alone seemed oblivious to, "Well, it seems you are more than adequately prepared for this venture, I underestimated you Khan Zalman. I think that this venture will be of great benefit to our clans."

Zalman gave Taney a predatory grin that caused more than a little nervousness in the smaller Hellion, "You should have never doubted."


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

Disclaimer:

If it doesn't appear in a source book or authorized publication, it's my intellectual property. Everything else belongs to Wizkids and/or Fanpro or contractual agents there-of. © 2001-2009 FanPro, LLC. © 2001-2009 WizKids, Inc.  
MechWarrior, BattleMech, 'Mech and AeroTech are registered trademarks of WizKids, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

All refrences to the Clans, Star League, as Well as specific Historical characters is done under the provision that the author will not profit from their use.

The author has not received fiscal (either monetary or in the form of services) compensation for the creation and publication of this piece. Attempts to solicit the author for rights to the text, characters, or ideas contained here-in will be considered as constituting a breach of the user agreement and will be immediately reported.

* * *

**Battletech: Resistance**

* * *

**Chapter 10**

Dominion Exodus Memorial

Alshain

Ghost Bear Dominion

December 31, 3061

0921 GST

______

"Have I considered rapprochement with Phelan and his wolves? It has crossed my mind more than once, yes." Khan Vlad Ward walked slowly next to fellow Khan Bjorn Jorgensson. Beyond the glass viewing wall several Ghost Bear warriors worked on scaffolding around the mammoth bronze sculpture of the Leviathan class warship that had come to symbolize Clan Ghost Bear's commitment to join their backwards Inner Sphere cousins.

"Well, what is stopping you Vlad?" Khan Jorgensson asked in his deep basso. The fighter pilot Khan stood almost as tall as an elemental and had a physical bulk that almost defied reason for a pilot. Vlad reflected, as he had many times before, how much this Khan had a quality to him much like his namesake…he was a bear of a man, and was possessed of a kind of calm with an underlying intensity much like the beast that was his clan's totem.

"I am not sure; perhaps it is a sort of resentment. I was jealous of him then, I despised him…when he was elevated so high, given so much favor, I came to hate him. But now…now it is all tempered by a strange feeling of…pity."

Despite their disparate philosophies and the constant sparring, Vlad had found a friend in Khan Bjorn Jorgensson. Both were young as Khans went, both thrust into command perhaps before they were fully prepared, but both making the best of a bad situation. Vlad was still rankled at Bjorn's refusal to fight in the Great Refusal, but given their exodus, it perhaps made sense.

"Have you made attempts at any dialogue? Perhaps there should be a burying of the hatchet first, between two warriors, man to man."

Vlad shrugged as they continued their slow leisurely stroll. "What would I say?"

Jorgensson laughed, "I cannot give you all the answers Khan Ward."

"A fairly made point…I have just never been the one to…you understand what I mean."

"I sense this is not why you came to see me…with the council sessions beginning in two weeks, we could have discussed that then…what brought you to see me today, Vlad?"

"Politics."

The Ghost Bear Khan grimaced, "You should have met with saKhan Kabrinski, then."

"Not in this regard. Bjorn, we need an ilKhan, perhaps now more than before. We are directionless again, we must have a leader to direct the clans, or we will eat our own until we cease to be."

Jorgensson stopped a moment, to gaze out at the sculpture.

"We undertook our exodus to avoid just that problem."

"It is not as if we could not do the same…but face it, we are part of human history now. We are a culture, we have made a mark on the course of human existence, and if we were to die off…would the universe not be worse for it?" Vlad joined his fellow Khan, leaning against the railing in front of the viewing panes.

"That is a metaphysical issue I am not qualified to answer. But I see your point…genocide is genocide whether inflicted on another or on ourselves. So I imagine you have someone in mind?"

"Of course."

"You?"

"That was my plan."

"Rather bold of you, do you not think?"

"Yes, it is…and perhaps in poor taste."

Jorgensson turned his head to look at Vlad, "Alright, sell me on this point."

"You never ask for concessions."

"And I am not now; convince me as to why you are fit for our highest office."

"We need a post invasion ilKhan, one who has not been affected by pre-invasion dogma and politics, a Khan that has seen how we have ravaged ourselves first hand. We need a Khan that can be firm, but fair, a Khan who understands that, eventually…we will have to return to the Inner Sphere and live amongst its people…we cannot remain isolated forever, we will have to come home."

"With that in mind there are three candidates. You, Marthe Pryde, and I…so why are you more uniquely suited to the role?"

"Positioning."

"Please, elaborate."

"Wolf is a cross roads clan…we have endured shifts in politics, a refusal war that was almost a war of annihilation or absorption, we have had our own schism, we were invaders but have ruled fairly as both wardens and crusaders, and, of course, we are the clan of Kerensky."

"Those are all good and fairly argued points, though I have to admit your presentation was a bit…terse."

"I did not want to afford you the time to poke holes in my logic." Vlad cocked the left corner of his mouth upward in a wry smile.

Jorgensson turned to face Khan Ward face to face, "I am going to put you to oath, you must give me your oath that you will be completely frank and truthful in regards to what I will ask you next."

Vlad didn't hesitate, "You have it."

"What will you do with the power?"

Vlad sighed, giving the question probably the first real thought his candidacy; "I suppose there are a variety of things I wish to accomplish. I cannot speak to the correctness of either the crusader or warden ideology. I of course follow the crusader path, but I cannot discount the warden philosophy out of hand. As I said before, some day we will have to return home, whether it will be through integration, conquest, or eventually becoming the moral center for the Inner Sphere I cannot say. I would definitely seek for us to establish a better understanding of why our people and their people took different paths and seek to understand if there will ever be a time when we can put the differences aside. I think the wounds are still to fresh for both our peoples for that, but some day."

Vlad paused again, giving it further thought.

"With my position relative to the other clans I can mediate conflict, come down hard where it needs to happen or ensure that matters are resolved with a minimum of conflict. All that has happened since the truce has served to sap our strength. These petty feuds and wars have taken such primacy that I think many of us no longer know who we are."

"Seyla."

"You agree then?"

"You said it better than I could have." Bjorn folded his arms, nodding sagely.

"Can I count on your backing?"

"Yes, yes you can Khan Ward."

"It gladdens me to hear that, Khan Jorgensson."

"Besides, I suppose I owe you…if you had not brought those fool Horses into your occupation zone, my warriors would have nothing to make earnest war against."

Vlad chuckled, "I had cautioned them that waking a bear was foolish, but…well…as stubborn as mules, I think Our Father selected the wrong equine for their totem."

Jorgensson let out a long deep belly laugh.

Ward couldn't help but grin, Bjorn's own mirth made his words seem funnier.

"Vlad, I do hope you will join us for the celebration of the New Year tonight."

"It would be my honor."

* * *

Psi Galaxy Headquarters

Huntress

Kerensky Cluster

December 31, 3061

0612 GST

______

Bal was relatively sure he looked as worn out as he felt. As he waited in the chow line he rubbed his chin, it was coated in a layer of coarse stubble; a fact he gave little thought to except that it necessitated he should shave. The line was moving slowly, far too slowly for his stomach that was even now growling. Less than six hours after returning from the Repository raid Galaxy Commander Wirth had detached his trinary permanently from the 44th and promoting him to Star Colonel to command the trinary newly Christened the 5th Special Forces Group. Wirth had at the time given an elaborate explanation of the heraldry of the original 5th Special Forces Group as part of North America's United States Army during the 20th century. All of which had been lost on Bal, he was not positive he was ready for command of an independent unit, but accepted it readily out of his sense of duty. Since then they had received two additional stars worth of elementals, all recent graduates whose scores in testing and simulator actions had been so singularly excellent that Bal found himself wondering what genetic heritages had produced the warriors. And of course Bal had to begin the process of orientation for these new warriors. Trinary Alpha's elementals and mechwarriors in the 44th worked as a single entity, everything almost biologically smooth. The warriors were so intimate that they knew what each other were thinking before words had even formed in their minds. Trying to work two more stars of elementals into that equation was going to be complicated, and he had been up for 31 hours straight now.

The line moved a bit more, and now he stood in front of a freeborn laborer Fern. Bal smiled widely at Fern, his eyes tired and his appearance disheveled. Fern was always good to the elementals, making sure they had plenty of food on their tray. Many laborers seemed to forget that elementals required many more calories than the average warrior or member of the lower castes. Elementals often had to eat rations to help supplement what they were getting from the cafeteria to keep their energy level where they needed it. Yet somehow Fern always knew and did so accordingly. As she took the tray from his hand she returned his smile, "How are you this morning, sir?"

"A bit tired, Fern."

"Late night, sir?"

"No night, I have been at it since the last repository raid."

"Gracious! You must be exhausted."

"A bit, yes."

Fern put four pieces of toast on Bal's tray and ladled on a huge portion of "sausage gravy", the "sausage" being textured vegetable protein and the "gravy" being derived from whey protein and ground quinoa. It was healthy, full of nutrients and lean protein, complex carbohydrates and long chain lipids and essential fatty acids…despite all this Bal found it delicious. One of the kitchen laborers, a member of the chef subcaste always made certain that his food was prepared in a way that would be palatable.

After ladling on the meat-substitute she paused then added another ladle full, turning the portion for heaping to huge. Bal resolved there to ask her a question that had had him wondering for some time.

"Why are you so good to the elementals, Fern?"

"You remind me of my dad." Was her succinct reply.

Bal knitted his brows, "Your father was a large man?"

"No, dear, he was an elemental."

His brows shifted from bunched by facial muscles to arched almost comically wide.

"Really? But, I thought you were a freebirth?"

Somehow, when Bal said the word, it was just a word, neither a curse nor an expression of derision or hate.

"He washed out because of a bad injury, both knees completely ruined. So he became a technician, used to assemble the optics in the focusing chambers of the pulse lasers right in New Andry. He met my mother there. Daddy always had a big appetite, I remember his arms were bigger around than me when I was young."

Behind Bal a mechwarrior sighed, "This is very interesting, and I do mean that sincerely, but some of us have duty to report for."

Bal felt his face flush, though there would be no indication given his ebon complexion, "You are right, I apologize trothkin. Fern, we should discuss this further another time."

The warrior nodded, taking no offense at the inconvenience.

Fern scooped some potatoes and eggs onto the tray then handed back across the hood cover to Bal. Moving on Bal removed two oranges from the bowl at the end of the line and moved on to Star Captain Limuel. Limuel was a warrior of mediocre mechanized talent but exceptional clerical skills. Galaxy Commander Wirth had placed him under Star Colonel Bonner Stiles as part of Psi Galaxies Field Support and Logistics component. Limuel may have been a shoddy mechwarrior by standards of Psi Galaxy, but he was a masterful martial artist. Bal had once witnessed a trial of grievance between Limuel and a warrior who felt affronted that Limuel had dared tell him that he had no need to requisition more than one bottle of liquor for the month. The resulting Circle of Equals saw Limuel pummel the other warrior into unconsciousness.

"Ahh, Star Colonel…congratulations." The affable quartermaster greeted.

"Thank you Star Captain, it was a surprise to me."

Limuel looked at the tray and chuckled as he scanned Bal's codex bracelet, "I should mark that as a double ration."

"Well…" Bal grinned sheepishly.

"I will not, of course, have to keep our warriors fit. Once again, congratulations, sir, it was well deserved."

Bal grinned, his pride at his position washing over him, eroding the feelings of humility and his own exhaustion, "Thank you, be well Star Captain."

"And you as well, Star Colonel."

Bal stepped away from the line into the "staging area" where warriors often stood, looking for sibkin or trothkin with whom to sit and consume their meals. Craning his neck he spied Freitag situated at a table near the middle of the room in the "no man's land" between the area where warriors typically sat and where the lower castes usually sat. The longer Psi Galaxy had operated, the larger "no man's land" had grown and the more people tended to sit in it, mixing with members of other castes, this was perhaps a sign that both groups had begun to bond. Bal eagerly walked over to the table to sit next to his friend. As he approached he noticed that his trusted comrade was sitting across from Scientist Regina whom he remembered from the "Christmas debacle." As he got closer his pace slowed, straining his ears to hear any conversation that would preclude his presence. Part of him was sure that Freitag was smitten by Regina, as she was clearly by him, given his expression and demeanor which seemed intimately relaxed.

Freitag noticed Bal before the latter could speak, "Star COLONEL, please, join us."

Freitag almost ridiculously over emphasized his new rank.

"I trust I am not interrupting."

Regina interjected, "Not at all, Star Colonel. Warrior Freitag was just instructing me on the finer points of being thankful for food."

Bal sat next to his friend, "Food? It is a necessity, is it not? I am not sure I see the purpose of being thankful for it."

"God's bounty…we eat because he allows crops to grow, flocks to survive and flourish."

Ever since Galaxy Commander Wirth had made it clear that he would not curtail religious practice as long as it did not interfere with a Jaguar's duty, the experienced warrior had become more open and vocal about his faith. He did not preach so much as use his religion in object lessons and practiced his faith more openly.

Bal was not sure how comfortable he was with the concept. The idea that there was something that was more powerful than the clan bothered him. The idea that their successes could be attributed to the favor of some all powerful being struck him as needlessly complicated and even a bit frightening. Changing the subject he looked to Scientist Regina.

"I am not sure I ever asked you what field you specialize in Scientist Regina."

Regina, who had been picking at an egg, set down her fork, "Well Star Colonel, I headed the team that designed your Troll battle armor."

The younger elemental balked, "That was you?"

"Yes, that is how warrior Freitag and I first me, he was instrumental in the development."

Freitag lowered his head, this was remarkably embarrassing; she was making it sound like dialog from one of those horrible Inner Sphere movies he had been subjected to during the stand downs following a planetary campaign during the invasion. Regina had made it sound as if there was some form of relationship there, which there clearly wasn't.

"Really?" Bal looked at the elder elemental, his face a mask of mischievous glee.

"Actually, Star Colonel, I just provided input on what would help facilitate standard elemental actions in terms of performance improvements and weapon systems." Freitag was rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably, hoping beyond hope that the conversation would change.

"Oh, Freitag, there was more to it than that." Regina placed a hand on his arm in a nonchalant and very familiar manner. The elder elemental responded by flushing bright pink.

Bal quickly shoveled a fork-full of food into his mouth to keep from laughing at Freitag's discomfiture.

The back of Freitag's neck was burning like the time a Kurita FS9-H had laid a Purity L flamer right into him during the invasion. He had to admit, the sensation of touch had been pleasant, a mild tingling accompanied by a warmth in his stomach, but the embarrassment was growing unbearable. Here she was talking about him like they were romantically involved, and right in front of his commander. Then things went from bad to worse. Elementals Eugenia, Ryer, Ophelia, Caruthers, and Miranda were approaching the table, clearly with the intent of sitting with their unit mate and commander.

"Are these seats taken?" Caruthers asked, gesturing to the table with his tray.

Bal shook his head, "No, by all means."

"Oh, Freitag, that reminds me, you should come by my lab this evening, I need to fine tune an issue with the fitting." Regina stated with all the timing of an air burst in an infantry column. He felt the flush from pink to bright red come with all the inexorability of a nuclear strike, the sudden heat forcing him to lower his face lest the heat bloom be picked up by reconnaissance satellites though part of him believed they would be able to spot it with the naked eye from as far away as Idlewind. The other elementals all turned and looked at Freitag, smiles starting to creep onto their faces. It was kind of a beautiful reversal for them. Freitag often rode rough on them, keeping them in line and treating them like a grizzled Crash Camp instructor. It was also, likely, the only time they had ever seen the perpetually professional veteran flustered or at a disadvantage.

Bal noticed his friend's embarrassment and decided to intervene, it was only right, Freitag had been there for him enough times, it was time to return the favor.

"Scientist Regina, I am curious, what is the approximate production time for the troll suits? I am eager to know when more can be expected for the touman."

"Well first let me say there is nothing so uniquely restrictive about the design, Star Colonel. The suit itself and the materials needed to make it are not so much elegant as was the approach we took. To be certain it is more complex than the standard battle armor, but that only really effects the time needed to integrate all the components and perhaps will make repair a shade more problematic. We are even now finishing up another Star worth of suits. From start to finish, production of a single unit takes a production team maybe a week."

Bal nodded, "Do you know how procurement is to be handled?"

"Galaxy commander Wirth made it abundantly clear that your new unit would be getting first crack at the suits. Based on your performance evaluation during the repository raid he believes your unit is more uniquely suited to take full advantage of the improve capabilities."

"If we could appropriate additional production teams and more materials, we could turn out a point or more a week, right now however we only have two manufacturing teams and we unfortunately do not have a dedicated manufacturing annex so we have to wait between production runs on stamping machines and the myomer looms to switch over to the dies and filament guides to produce the components we need, everything else is more or less standard." Regina stated before taking a ginger nibble from a piece of toast.

Ophelia looked over at her commander, "Sir, we need more of those suits, can you perhaps make a case to Galaxy Commander Wirth?"

Bal shook his head, genuine resignation on his face, "I cannot ask that the Galaxy Commander side line production for the other Clusters in the clan so our group can have more suits."

Ryre popped an egg in his mouth and between chewing said, "Bagera has the facilities we need, sir."

"Which is currently held by the Jade Falcons, Ryre." Miranda interjected.

"Two under strength trinaries of Solahmas and freebirths." Ryer countered still chewing. "Besides, we take Bagera, we can appropriate the mechs and equipment, take the Solhama and freebirth warriors, bond them, make them abtakha, and let them prove their loyalty as training cadres for our sibkos."

A light went on in Bal's head. Ryer had said it all so matter-of-factly, but it was brilliant. That is exactly what they must do.

Ophelia reached over and rubbed Ryer's back, "Now, now, Ryer, you are thinking above your pay grade again."

"Star Colonel, if I may?" Regina asked with a courtesy that bespoke her subtle elegance.

Bal nodded, chewing a mouthful of faux-sausage gravy and the course grain bread toast.

"Elemental…?" She lilted, as if feeling it necessary to have the name of the warrior whose idea the raid was.

"Ryre." Ophelia added, still stroking the back of the red headed warrior to her right.

"Elemental Ryer is correct in that Bagera does indeed have the facilities for full production of the Troll armor, and indigenous personnel would allow for a full twenty five or so production teams, the expertise level necessary is there. We could turn out a full star a week."

Caruthers whistled, turning his face to look at his commander, "Star Colonel…a star a week…we could gear up every elemental in the touman in less than six months, plus an active reserve."

"I strongly doubt that Galaxy Commander Wirth would deign to allow the Bagera facilities to focus solely on the production of elementals. There is still an entire galaxy of mechwarriors who need equipment and a hundred thirty sibko graduates still waiting to be assigned a mech." Miranda, the ultimate killjoy, added with all the stark reality of a failed parafoil deployment at 15,000 feet.

Caruthers leaned against the table, "What is your take, Freitag?"

The table went silent as everyone waited to see what the one true veteran at the table felt about the hypothetical discussion. Bal thought that perhaps Caruthers was challenging Freitag in a round about way, but he waited to see what his friend would say.

Freitag steepled his fingers, "Tonight, we will celebrate the turning of the year. We have been blessed. Blessed to have survived and that Khan Osis' plan, God rest his soul, has succeeded. We are blessed to remain Jaguars where many have fallen or been absorbed. God has blessed us; he has warded our every step and made all of our enterprise a success. Let it be said now, that no thing formed against us shall pass, and no enterprise of ours will fail as long as he smiles on us. It is providence that Bagera lays so close and that if we should take it, we shall further prosper."

The table sat in silence, waiting for him to finish.

"God bade Joshua take the city of Jericho, and in spite of the odds, Joshua took the city through faith and the force of arms. God bade Jonah go to the city of Nineveh, and Jonah was made to go to Nineveh. God bade Moses to free the Israelites from bondage, and the Israelites were freed from the whips and swords of the Pharaoh. If God bid we take Bagera, then we shall have Bagera."

There was silence at the table, Freitag's words had held a strange power. His conviction was so absolute, his belief that their cause was righteous so without question that the others were speechless despite the chalcas that had unpinned his declarations. Bal was momentarily worried that this would go badly as the warriors present bucked against the idea that some higher being influenced their actions.

Caruthers broke the silence, "And how will we know if…God bids we take Bagera?"

Freitag smiled, "We go and see. Unless you know of a prophet."

Caruthers nodded, turning to look around the table, "A true warrior faces the unknown without fear. Perhaps there is something to your God after all, Freitag. What say you, Star Colonel?"

Bal swallowed the food he had been chewing, "The first thing I say is an order; finish your breakfast. Then, I shall go speak to Galaxy Commander Wirth. Scientist Regina, I would ask you accompany me and explain the situation regarding the armor production. Warrior Ryer, you too will accompany me, I want you to be there to take credit for the idea."

The red headed warrior blushed almost as bright red as his hair, "Me, sir? But…I am just a foot soldier, I would not know what to say in front of Galaxy Commander Aldus."

Bal gave Ryer a teasing glare, "Then you had better figure it out now."

The warriors at the table laughed as Ryer's face revealed his terror at the idea of being on the spot. Ophelia rubbed his back again, leaning over to give his ear lobe a nibble, "You will be fine, just do not make a fool of yourself."

Ryer swallowed hard, "If it were only that easy…"

* * *

Dropship Timoth McSweeny

Docked with the Jerome Winson

4.2 Parsecs Rimward of the Caliban Nebula

December 31, 3061

1532 Zulu

______

"So, why is it exactly I feel like I'm being kept prisoner?"

The thrust of the Wolf Liberator class cruiser had produced a mildly disorienting simulacrum of gravity. It was costly to burn fuel while waiting for the lithium fusion batteries and jump sail to recharge the jump drive. The fact that weightlessness was foregone was a fact Victor appreciated, but there was a strangely disturbing idea to being trapped in the Dropship.

Tiaret Nevversan grunted as she loaded 6.8mm rounds into yet another clip. She had been almost pathologically loading clips for days now, the supply was threatening to run out and without something to consume her time, he feared that Tiaret might become unstable.

"Khan Ward showed a great amount of faith by allowing you to board the ship at all, the fact there is a point of elemental bodyguards should be the accepted drawback for being able to board a clan warship."

"It's not that Tiaret, I'm grateful to Kahan Ward, I am. My assessment of him as a leader and as a man have been drastically changed, I would even say I might respect the guy. I just feel so awkward; couldn't the elementals be doing something better with their time?"

Tiaret chuckled, "Fornicating…and maybe wrestling…which would probably lead to…fornicating."

Victor blanched at Tiaret's frankness.

"Still, it seems so…"

"Victor, for them this is a great honor. Khan Ward considers you so honored an enemy that he would afford a warship to give you escort. Among the clans this says that you are an equal. They may begrudge you the position, but believe me…they respect you, and as a warrior, respect is about the most you can ever hope for."

Victor looked across the bay to the Clan warrior bodyguard staged near the hatch should he feel the desire to board the Star League vintage ship. They wore no expressions, they wore duty as their faces. Victor could divine no emotion from their face other than the orders with which they had been tasked. An entire star of elementals had been drawn from a front line galaxy to act as bodyguards. Victor was no clanner, but even he viewed this is wasteful. Twenty Five of the clan's best soldiers all tasked to make sure that no ill befell him. In addition, as per Khan Pryde's agreement, 10 clan Jade Falcon elementals served as redundant bodyguards should Clan Wolf's oath suddenly prove insufficient to ensure the loyalty. Days now, Victor had endured the subtle tension of the warriors. He was not sure if it was because of anger or the "battle focus" that often caused soldiers in the Inner Sphere to alienate friends.

The Wolf elementals served in rotating shifts of 8 hours on, 16 hours off, at any point 5 elementals were with Victor and 5 guarded the airlock to the McSweeny. The Jade Falcons had a more grueling 12 hours on, 12 hours off. So far both groups were holding up well, but there was a kind of palpable tension. The part he was unsure about was whether it was tension between the rival clans or tension regarding their mission. Either had the potential to boil over, though part of him believed these warriors were too disciplined to allow that to happen.

"Do they realize that they don't have to stand at attention the whole time they are on duty?"

Tiaret stacked the loaded clip in an ammo box and grabbed another one, pushing the first of 30 rounds into the magazine. "Maybe you should tell them."

"Jesus, this is awkward Tiaret! I hate being in this kind of position."

"You could always renounce your position, title, and heritage and grow beets."

Victor sneered, "Oh, that's just the best idea I've ever heard."

Tiaret grinned at him, "Yes, I thought so."

Victor flicked Tiaret's arm.

The elemental chuckled.

"When did you turn into such a smartass?"

"I had a good teacher."

Victor opened his mouth in protest, "I never…"

"Not you! Jerry."

"Oh…well…yeah, he is a smart ass."

Victor found himself forgetting more and more often that Tiaret was a clan elemental. Her physique was often a good enough indicator. She stood well over seven feet tall with build that would set professional body builders to envy. She conducted herself militarily as one of the finest soldiers he had ever served with. Her loyalty was unflinching as was her morale, but the cold, icy, precise clan demeanor had seemed to melt away of late. She joked regularly, gave as good as she got in terms of teasing and had started using contractions almost mechanically where she once would have never let them slip. Was she the future of the clans? She seemed to be a case study in how the clans could integrate with Inner Sphere society. Part of him believed it was the fact that her original clan could no longer place influence on her, it was dead…or at least part of him prayed it was. If what Vlad Ward and Marthe Pryde had said was true, she would be facing the potential of fighting her own countrymen and how much could her loyalty be relied on then? He would not even be able to blame her if she decided to join her brethren. Blood is thicker than water, and if these brigands on Huntress were indeed Smoke Jaguar, they were her blood and Victor, well, he was water. He worked on building the resolve to tell Tiaret that once they landed all debts were wiped clean and she could chose for herself who to serve. He opened his mouth, the words catching in his throat as he tried to force the words, part of him reverting to his childhood when he had had to force the courage to tell his parents something they weren't going to like.

Just as he felt the words starting to break free from their mental block, Tiaret spoke. "How many clips do you want to carry in the cockpit?"

Victor froze, the moment suddenly shattered by her understated devotion, "Ummm…four, four is usually good."

Tiaret nodded, "Mmmmkay."

From across the hold approached 1LT Ray Butts. Butts was an older soldier of indeterminate background. When he had applied for a commission with the SLDF the commendations he had received from the FCAF we almost completely blacked out. It was safe to say he was some Special Forces operator, but it was not clear with which unit or when. Butts' very presence said "dangerous" but it was hard to put a finger on exactly what it was about him that made him so deadly.

"You know, sir, you should take her for a walk sometimes too, if all you have her do is load clips she'll get antsy."

Butts loved to harass Tiaret, it was like a private pastime of his. It was mostly good natured…or at least so Victor thought.

"Maybe he could take us both for a walk, I think he has more than one leash." Tiaret shot back.

"Sir, if I might say, this sucks like a Tharkad General's daughter at a RCT ball." Butts made vulgarity sound so militaristic.

"Bored, Ray?"

"Hell no, sir, I get off either way. Just saying, sir that it seems to that if those IIABs don't get off soon they're going to pop."

"IIABs?" Tiaret arched a brow.

"Infantry in a Box." Butts elaborated.

Tiaret laughed, "Don't you mean Infantry in a Can?"

"More like canned heat, look at em, they need something to distract them "

"Planning on making a run for the airlock?" Tiaret smiled.

"Ray, I swear to God…if you do…"

"No sir, if I decide to get over onto the Warship, they won't know it happened, sir. Think these folks play cards?"

Victor looked to Tiaret, who in turned looked to Butts, who followed the circle by looking to Victor.

"Don't ask me, Tiaret is the elemental expert."

"I don't know what other clans do!"

Butts let out a sharp whistle, "Hey! Too Tall, Hot Lips, you folks play cards?"

The Wolf Commander, Gerald Shaw and his Jade Falcon counterpart, Belinda Mattlov, exchanged confused looks.

"We are on duty." Shaw finally said.

"Then stay on duty, we're talking cards here, not pin the tail on the donkey. Besides..." he cocked a thumb at Victor, "He couldn't sneak his way out of a wet paper bag."

"I don't find myself in them often enough to gain the proficiency." Victor countered without missing a beat.

A few of the other elementals shrugged to each other.

"Tell you what, we'll keep it interesting; if I win I get one of those pig stickers," Butts pointed at the combat knives each of the wolf elementals had on their belts. "If you win, I'll teach you the right way to use em."

A few of the elementals looked at each other with incredulous expressions. The idea of some normal sized freebirth teaching them the proper techniques for fighting must have been laughable.

"Now you've done it, Ray…you've insulted their sensibilities." Tiaret chided as she continued her mechanical loading of the magazines.

"With all due respect, what could you possibly hope to teach us about melee combat?"

"Sir, requesting permission to allow the elementals to try to kill me." Butts shouted eagerly.

Victor shrugged, "Go nuts."

Butts nodded and slipped into a loose "warrior" stance. "Now, you're really gonna have to try to stab me, I mean REALLY stab me, not some limp-wristed training bullshit, you're going for liver extraction here!"

Shaw shrugged, "Your funeral."

The lunge was almost too quick to see, the reaction was ever quicker. All Victor knew is one moment 158 kilos of elemental was standing stone still, knife in hand and the next moment he was face down on the floor some five yards from where he had been standing and Butts was over him, holding his wrist.

The bay went silent; Victor wasn't sure what to expect to happen next. He wasn't even sure how Butts had managed to flatten the elemental so effectively. The silence held for another few moments but they felt like an eternity when, from across the bay, one of the elementals present finally spoke a single word.

"Whoa."

Butts let go of Star Commander Shaw's wrist and he rolled to his back, a look of surprise on his face. Butts extended a hand and helped the massive warrior to his feet. The other elementals gave into their curiosity and walked over, clearly intrigued to know what particular brand of martial arts Butts had used to such great effect and more than a bit eager to learn what secrets he could yield.

"How…how did you do that?" Shaw gaped.

"You'll have to beat me at a few hands of cards first."

Butts flipped the knife around in his hand, handing it back to the elemental by the blade. "But if I win I get one of these."

Shaw accepted the weapon and resheathed it, "Bargained well and done, Lieutenant Butts."

"Well let's get to it; you guys know the rules for Canasta?"

* * *

Office of the Kahn

Ironhold

Keresnky Cluster

December 31, 3061

1549 GST

______

Marthe Pryde sat in her office with the lights off, she found the dark relaxing. If the lights were on, she would see something that needed attending to. Much of her time was spent attending to something the lights in the office revealed needed her personal involvement with. In all likelihood, the first months of the impending New Year would require much of her time and attention. This wasn't the eye of the Hurricane, the storm hadn't even made landfall. It was so cliché; the calm before the storm, but that is most likely the best description for the current state of things. Earlier today she had presided over and acted as oathmaster for a graduation ceremony. The sibko had been comprised of freeborns, of the 100 that initially had entered training a staggering 14 had succeeded in their trial of position. She stressed to them their duty as warriors, told them to take pride in their birth, not that they were freeborns, but that they were Jade Falcons, the greatest of clans. She told them to honor the memory of Kerensky, those who went before them, and those that would come after, but most of all to take pride in achieving what many Trueborns never did. All of the young male warriors had worn a full thick beard, much like the one that had become a trademark of Horse. They were all on their way to Eyrie clusters where they would likely give the trueborn warriors a run for their money.

Marthe smiled to herself, Horse had helped turn the clan around for her. Freebirths had always enjoyed higher standing in Jade Falcon than some of the other clans, but Jade Falcon had remained always conservative. Even now, there were scholars in clan space that were hailing the clan as "progressive" and the face of the future of the clans. Of the freeborns she had inducted into the warrior caste today, she was sure at least half of them would be bound for front line clusters within a few years. If the trend held, the touman would be bulked up to its pre-Refusal War numbers. If there was one legacy she could leave…that would be the one she most wanted. She was certain her clan would weather the coming storm and the political turmoil that would follow, but there was some small part of her that would have preferred to run from it. Still, the storm might bear fruit, and adversity was the way of the clans. When she rose from this, she would be stronger, and so would the clan.

A hard knock came at her door, she already knew it must be Samantha, only she knocked like that.

"Enter!"

The door swung open and Cleese crossed to her desk, "Remind me again, why are we allowing a freebirth Star Colonel to select the composition for a unit he is not even going to command?"

"Because it is Horse."

"Is that our official stance then?"

"Do we need an official stance?"

Cleese shrugged, "I kind of wondered the same thing, but seeing as how I am getting asked the question daily…"

"Well, you can tell them that once they have as many lines in our remembrance as Horse, they can hand select warriors for units too."

"Seems valid enough logic to me. And on that note, he sent a list of warriors he believes would be best for the Second Cuirassiers."

"Who did he tap for officers?" Marthe asked, sitting up to look at the reports SaKahn Cleese dropped on her desk.

"The Star Captains are all trueborns…but get this, look at who he thinks is best suited for command."

Marthe looked at the brief, he mouth opening in surprise then shifting into an expression of devilish glee, "Ravill Pryde would positively throw a fit!"

"I know, right? But would she accept it?"

Marthe leaned back in the chair, "Of course, why would she not?"

Samantha Cleese shrugged, arching an eyebrow, "I do not know…maybe her heart is set on taking over her father's unit some day."

"Command of the Second could be a stepping stone in that direction. Horse has good judgment."

Cleese looked skeptical, "Marthe, I respect the man, he is a fine warrior and loyal to a fault, but is he perhaps not falling sway to nepotism?"

"Great warriors are as much a product of their friends and comrades as they are their training and innate skill. Perhaps Horse simply knows very well how to identify talent and attaches himself to it. It had served him well; he is one of our finest warriors and an able commander."

"Well, regardless, do you think Diana would actually take the position if offered?"

"I think it all depends on how we word it, if we make it sound like an order I doubt she would refuse." Marthe allowed a rare chuckle.

"Well, we shall see what becomes of it once the unpleasantness of Huntress is concluded. To be honest, I have never heard of most of these warriors, but an overview of their codices looks promising. As if…"

"They have just been in the wrong unit all this time." Marthe finished her SaKahn's sentence.

"Yes, that is it exactly."

"Aidan had the same eye for the overlooked warriors. They were mostly discipline problems or warriors ready to be shipped off to solhama clusters. He put them together and turned them into the Falcon Guards that are the personification of our clan's martial tradition."

"Well, then I believe one could say, if they were given to metaphysics, that only Aidan Pryde's body died on Tukayyid, the rest of him lived on in his daughter and our Horse."

"Do not forget the gene pool, Samantha."

"Aidan Pryde was as much the sum of the events in his life as of the genes of his parents."

"This is a delicate subject for me; I would ask that we drop it."

"Very well. Should I approve the transfer orders then?"

Marthe sat silently a moment, part of her ached over the loss of who had probably been the only being she ever really loved. Sometimes she missed Aidan so much she felt physical pain because of it. Among the low castes it was called heartache. There had never been true romance or dezgra feelings of that sort, but there had been a closeness that she had never found with another being, and the fact that he was gone, leaving so much unsaid between them tore at her in a way she never really experienced.

"Everyone under the rank of Star Commander, yes, approve the transfers and preparations can be made for their transfer to Sudaten. I want some time to review his Star Captain selections and the matter of Diana Pryde will have to be resolved after the events on Huntress come to a conclusion."

Cleese nodded, picking up a stack of briefs from where she had placed them on the desk. "Was there anything else?"

"Yes…I need to speak to you about the direction of the clans as a whole…it has recently come to my attention that we are in need of an IlKahn…please, sit down, this is going to be difficult to hear, but you need to hear it none-the-less."


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

Disclaimer:

If it doesn't appear in a source book or authorized publication, it's my intellectual property. Everything else belongs to Wizkids and/or Fanpro or contractual agents there-of. © 2001-2009 FanPro, LLC. © 2001-2009 WizKids, Inc.  
MechWarrior, BattleMech, 'Mech and AeroTech are registered trademarks of WizKids, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

All refrences to the Clans, Star League, as Well as specific Historical characters is done under the provision that the author will not profit from their use.

The author has not received fiscal (either monetary or in the form of services) compensation for the creation and publication of this piece. Attempts to solicit the author for rights to the text, characters, or ideas contained here-in will be considered as constituting a breach of the user agreement and will be immediately reported.

* * *

**Battletech: Resistance**

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Bagera

Huntress

Kerensky Cluster

January 4, 3062

0115 GST

Freitag dashed across the darkened field to the chain link fence surrounding the control tower at the Airfield. Eliminating air superiority was going to be the first step in the action. Even given Star Colonel Bal's stunning ground to air kill a month earlier, it was likely that none of the other warriors would be able to duplicate it. If the Falcons got fighters into the air, any chance of taking Bagera would be dashed. He felt almost invincible in the heavier Troll suit, but secrecy was the order of the day and he acted accordingly. It was a splendid night for the raid, a new moon combined with high altitude cloud cover had created a night without a modicum of ambient light. Furthermore, it was a cool night, non-essential personnel were in doors to get away from the cold and the biting wind. Freitag reflected for a moment how much better it felt having two "hands" in these new suits. The incorporation of the second manipulator hand had been accomplished on the design by placing the upgraded extended range support laser on a mount that swiveled around the arm on an underslung carriage. The manipulators, like everything else on the suit, were improved, having three "fingers" and a "thumb" allowing for a wider range of gestures and better manipulation of small or delicate items without sacrificing any power. Bal gestured with his right hand manipulator and he almost immediately heard the heavy foot falls of warriors Ryer and Ophelia coming up behind him. Both warriors had recently received a Troll suit as well and had spent days babying their new weapon systems. Without further direction both grabbed ahold of the chain link fencing, holding it in place as Freitag gripped the middle section and started tearing the links apart with his manipulators. The process only took a moment as he ripped a hole big enough for the star of elementals under his command to pass through in single file.

Two days before Galaxy Commander Wirth had ordered him to fight a simulated trial of position, he had not been sure why, part of him feared he was going to be transferred back to the 44th to take command of the recomposed Trinary Battle that had once been Bal's command before being turned into the 5th SFG. He decided to acquit himself to the best of his ability regardless of what the situation might entail and during the simulation he had avoided several elemental patrols to close with, assault, and destroy a simulated _Warhawk_. The simulation concluded as he ripped the "dead" pilot from the cockpit of the assault mech. When he left the simulation pod Galaxy Commander Wirth and Star Colonel Bal had been waiting for him. With a big smile on his face, Bal had pinned the rank of Star Captain on him and Galaxy Commander Wirth informed him that he would be taking command of Delta Star in the 5th SFG. The eventual goal of the SFG was to have officers even at the point level, with Star Commanders leading points and Star Captains leading Stars. The reasoning being that if the SFG were to come across a shattered unit they could appropriate command of those units and have the authority to do so. Wirth's reasoning had been brilliant; the Special Forces Groups were going to be the elite spearhead for the Smoke Jaguars in their complicated and secretive shadow war they were fighting to regain control of Huntress. Most of his star consisted of "rookie" elementals who had completed their trials of position just a few weeks before. Several of the more "veteran" elementals for the original Trinary Battle had been shifted into Delta and Echo stars to help spread the experience of the unit around, still most of the warriors Freitag had to deal with had little field time and even less time in actual battle armor having spent most of their training in simulators. The simulator training was none-the-less merciless and unforgiving, but having real missiles flying overhead during training was still something no simulator could adequately duplicate. In terms of raw test scores, many of these young elementals outperformed their traditionally trained counterparts, but in simulation exercises injury amounted to a loss of points, not weeks of debilitating pain and loss of function. Freitags own scars seemed to act up for a moment as he remembered his injuries in training and combat and remembering the sensation of rent flesh and broken bones.

With the hole ripped open, Freitag passed through to inside the airfield, taking a knee and scanning the area with his integrated NOD. A kilometer away, in the cold darkness as a single Falcon infantryman, likely a solahma mechwarrior or freebirth military police soldier, walked a patrol path near a spur of the main airstrip. Even with the grass as tall as it was, trying to cross to the soldier across an open kilometer in battle armor would be complicated. They would likely give away their position long before they got close enough to subdue the warrior and he would be able to fire off alarm shots. Freitag had already anticipated this of course, and had made adequate preparation for such an eventuality.

"Elemental Sula, on me."

A dark shape sprinted over to his position. The young woman, the product of an Osis-Osis sibko was stripped down of much of her gear and clothing, her dark skin painted with camouflage paint. Sula was a quick silent runner and exceptionally good at take down techniques. She had been Freitag's first choice for the job of quickly and quietly subduing foot patrols around his objectives. Speed and quiet had necessitated she carry as little equipment as possible and to move without the encumbrance and stealth negating bulk of battle armor. Freitag could tell she was cold, goose bumps showing up on her naked arms and she was shivering ever so slightly, but she did not let it effect her bearing.

"Sir."

Freitag extended his right arm to point at the Jade Falcon, "Single patrol, one man, walking along the north east spur. Flank him, subdue, bind, and gag him. Do not kill him, quiaff?"

"Aff, Star Captain, he will not know what hit him, but he will have plenty of time to think about it."

"Get to it."

Sula, crouched low dashed out through the field, arcing wide to gain multiple approach vectors on the Falcon warrior.

"Sir, should we have not also sent Elemental Boyton too?" Ophelia keyed in over the mic.

"Boyton would have been more likely to have been spotted." Ryre offered immediately.

"Skin color politics are a bit to antediluvian for my taste, elemental Ophelia, but elemental Ryre makes a good point, Sula blends in better." Freitag declared, reflecting for a moment how in times long past that this would have played right into racial politics. The concept was alien to the clans. A trueborn warrior was a trueborn warrior, the origins of their genetic line made no difference. Sula's dark skin made her naturally better suited to infiltration on dark nights like this, and her individual talent set made her the most obvious choice. Boyton was an excellent infiltrator as well, but his pale complexion would have stood out even with the assistance of camouflage paint.

"Get the rest of the star up. Once they get this side of the fence, have them all grab some ground, I do not want us silhouetted against the fence.

"I copy, sir." Ophelia replied then made a flurry of hand gestures.

The minutes seemed to drag on forever as Freitag watched Sula's progress. She was cautious, stalking the Falcon soldier the way their clan's namesake stalked prey. She made wide arcs and semicircles, working her way slowly closer. The distance between the two got smaller and smaller as she made sudden dashes; Freitag's heart was in his throat as Sula closed to within 10 meters. In his NOD he could see the slow meticulous stalk. Sula was so close all the Falcon warrior would have to do is turn and see her. Then she pounced.

Sula leapt forward, coming down on the Falcon warrior, knocking his rifle away then disappearing into the tall grass. A moment later she stood, making the "all clear" gesture in the direction where she knew Freitag was.

"That is the signal, move out!"

The 20 other elementals rose from their prone positions and began jogging across the field.

"Points two and three get to the hangers, points four and five, set the demolition on the airstrip." Freitag barked into the comm. This was the point where it all fell into place. They had to move fast to secure the hanger and the control tower, once they had secured those objectives the demolition charges on the airstrip would prevent the Falcons getting fighters in the air should the Jaguars get pushed out of the airfield. As they closed they heard a fighter test firing its engines as techs labored away on the craft in the hanger. It was perfect cover.

"Avoid casualties at all cost, less than lethals only, do not fire lethal weapons unless all other options are exhausted." Elemental Miranda growled over the comms, "Do not any of you cubs think that you can garner some quick glory by killing a few falcons or you will answer to me."

"That goes double for me," Freitag roared, the adrenaline starting to work its way into his bloodstream.

The 12.7mm anti-infantry machine guns mounted under the arms of all the warriors had been loaded with less than lethal ammunition and the powder charge had been cut by 25% to ensure the velocity was low enough that an errant strike would not prove fatal to the Falcon warriors and personnel. While a strike could still break a bone and cause massive haematoma, it would not penetrate. The points broke off from the main group and shot off in the directions of their objective. The control tower loomed ahead and Freitag immediately trained his anti-personnel weapon on the upper railings, waiting for a sentry to come into view.

Ryre and Ophelia reached the door leading into the tower and the female warrior practically ripped if off its hinges.

"I know they heard that." Miranda stated flatly.

Sure enough, the door on the tower opened and a comm. tech stuck his head outside.

"Stravag!" Freitag swore.

The tech looked around, seemingly confused by what he had heard and unable to see the camouflaged battle armor in the dark.

"Everyone in the tower, now." The senior elemental barked as he charged for the open door.

The remaining four elementals piled in behind him as Freitag began taking the stairs five at a time; the armor of his boots resounding against the concrete in the narrow stairwell. Half way up a stunned comm. tech was frozen in place, unsure exactly what he was witnessing. Freitag shot his armored left manipulator hand forward, catching the Falcon tech on the chin, sending him tumbling down the stairs. He landed in a heap on the second landing, groaning where he lay.

Freitag leapt, clearing the remaining steps to the top landing where the door to the control room was swinging shut. Surging forward he took the door off its hinges and sent it spinning into the room where it took the feet out from under another technician and sent him sprawling to the floor. Bringing his left arm up, Freitag leveled the 12.7mm anti-personnel weapon on the room.

"Get away from those controls, now!" Freitag roared over the external speakers.

A stunned Falcon guard leveled his Mauser IIC rifle at the elemental and was rewarded with a three round burst of less than lethal rounds in the chest, knocking him backwards into a table sending the monitors on it crashing to the floor. One of the techs gave out a cry of alarm believing she had just witnessed the death of the Falcon sentry.

"On the ground, now!" Ophelia screamed through the external vocador.

"We do not wish you harm, get on the ground." Ryre spoke calmly but firmly over the external speakers.

From the corner where he had fallen the Falcon sentry mumbled incoherently.

"He is not dead, get on the ground, we are going to bind you. If you do not comply we will be forced to subdue you through violence." Miranda added another calm voice.

Elemental Cristibol stepped forward slowly, holding the bind ties.

One of the Jade Falcons, a warrior, spoke up. "If they meant us harm they would have killed us outright, best to do as they say." She immediately placed eyes on Freitag, sensing he was in command. "I am going to turn over my sidearm; I won't make any sudden movements." She reached down and removed a handgun from its holster, handing it over to Freitag.

Freitag noted the use of the contraction, assuming the warrior must be a freebirth, she was well past normal solhama years, but she had a fire in her eyes that bespoke a much younger warrior. Freitag took the weapon, pressing the magazine release then working the action to clear the round in the chamber then tossing the pistol back down the stairwell.

"We appreciate your practicality warrior, we have no desire to cause any further physical harm to the personnel here."

"If I may ask, what exactly do you expect to accomplish taking an airfield? The remaining trinary will no doubt learn you have taken it and come to secure it."

Freitag pulled the releases on the face/chest plate of his armor, allowing it to open. "You might be a bit disappointed; they are doubtless being dealt with even as we speak."

"So, it's true, the Smoke Jaguars are back, and here I thought you were just a collection of bandits with a bad case of nostalgia."

The other elementals bristled, but Freitag remained calm, "Lincoln Osis was not often credited with cunning, but that is mostly because a truly cunning leader knows how to keep his secrets secret…even from those he counts as comrades."

"So it would seem, may I ask about the remainder of my men and the tech contingency?"

"I have four other points securing the hangers and barracks."

"Then it would seem you have won, I humbly surrender the airfield."

Miranda spoke through her external speakers, "You seem pretty calm about surrendering without firing a shot."

"Short of putting a dent in your armor, that wouldn't accomplish much, The five mechs in my trinary are anti-aircraft platforms and they were not manned, you came in so quietly we weren't even aware we were under attack. I assume you had to deal with Warrior Merchenzo in the field?"

"He is alive, but we did pacify and bind him, but short of a bruised ego and some bruises of the normal kind, he is unhurt." Freitag replied.

"It would seem Star Colonel Icaza severely underestimated you." The Falcon warrior declared.

"An understandable mistake given the circumstances, I welcome you to Clan Smoke Jaguar, warrior…?" Freitag paused, waiting for the Falcon Solahma to provide a name.

"Star Captain actually, Star Captain Sentenia Buhallin."

* * *

"Priest to Ancient Tracker eight, come back, over."

"Ancient Tracker eight here, what do you have for me Priest? Over." Bal responded into the command frequency.

"High-rise is a go, we have zero friendly whiskey India alpha, zero enemy kilo India alpha. Ducks are in the barn. All papa oscar whiskeys accounted for. Please advise on Broadway."

"Do not detour Broadway, repeat do NOT detour, will advise in one five mikes, over."

"I copy Ancient Tracker Eight, Priest out."

Bal was finding his part of the mission was turning out tougher than he had imagined. The mech bays were under heavy guard, at least fifteen dismounted infantry were patrolling the area. Any attempt to pacify the area would result in shots fired that would almost certainly alert garrison command. There was very little real defense the garrison could mount, but if they got in a call to New Andry, there would definitely be a fight on their hands. They were also under strict orders to try to take everyone alive, an earnest firefight with the sentries would almost definitely lead to some of them being severely injured or killed. A bull rush of the hanger area was the only practical solution to ensure they pacified the sentries as quickly as possible, but it would get loud in a hurry, Star Captain Leonard and Star Captain Jordan Perez would have to secure their objectives first, that threw the timetable off, but he was sure he could make it in under the wire if they were quick enough.

"Ancient Tracker Eight to Fink and Vandal, come back, over."

"This is Vandal, I copy."

"Fink here." Came the breathless reply

"Status?"

"This is Fink, Ancient Tracker, we have secured the barracks, bastards got innovative."

"Report, casualties?"

"Negative casualties Ancient Tracker Eight, but we found out these suits have problems versus linoleum and large quantities of floor wax."

In any other situation, Bal would have found this to be funny, but right now he was being presented with the potential that his first action as an independent commander could go impossibly sideways and the thought worried him.

"Are the papa oscar whiskeys secure?"

"Affirmative, all accounted for. Over."

"Vandal, what is your status?"

"We are preparing for breach now, Ancient Tracker Eight."

"Do it now Vandal, do not wait for shift change, breach now, quiaff?"

"Aff Ancient Tracker, breaching now, will advise when target secured."

To the west a loud thump indicated that the breach was in progress. Shaped charges were blowing the blast door from the bunker opening so Star Captain Perez's star could secure the Garrison CP.

"Priest, come back."

"Priest here." The calm voice of Freitag replied.

"Detour Broadway, now."

"Affirmative."

Two more loud reports echoed from the north east as the cratering charges placed by Freitag's elementals blasted the duracrete of the airstrip at the juncture of the spur runways, rendering the airstrip inaccessible for launch or landing of the Jade Falcon aerospace compliment.

Just as he had expected, Bal watched as the sentries scurried to the sandbagged communication hut outside the central hanger. The Falcon warriors were shouting, but he couldn't make out what they were saying, it was obvious, however, that they were alarmed by the blasts they had heard.

"Sir, what do you have in mind?" Eugenia came in over the secure point level frequency.

"When they cannot get through to the CP, they will go rouse the Mechwarriors on alert stand down in the GP prefabs. Once we have them all out in the open, we will jet over the fence and lay down a suppressing fire of less than lethal, Caruthers' point will flank them from behind."

Bal looked over to where Caruthers and his point were in position and used a series of hand signs accompanied by a wide arcing gesture to indicate his plan for the point.

Caruthers tapped the hood plate on his armor and his warriors immediately rose from their prone positions and began a quick sprint along the embankment facing the western edge of the fence to make a northern entry to flank the Falcon warriors inside.

Bal counted down the minutes it would take Caruthers and his point to get in position. In the motor pool he saw three of the Falcon infantry men jog over to the GP medium prefabricated building and emerge five minutes later with 10 mechwarriors in tow, neurohelmets and cooling jackets in hand. They reached the communications hut and stopped, waiting to see if CP could be raised. After another three minutes of conferencing the mechwarriors moved to enter the hangers. It was time, Bal worked the charging handle on his anti-personnel machine gun then stood. "All units, we are jumping the fence on my mark."

The 4 other points all rose, taking a jump stance. It was now or never.

"Zero fatalities, I do not care if you have to tackle them, do not kill any of them, and Kerensky save you if any of you manage to get killed because you will answer to me before we let your carcass slip into the void."

The hanger doors had just started to open when Bal shouted over the Star Wide frequency, "Mark!"

He took a bounding step then ignited his jets. The roar of nineteen other sets of jump jets joined his as four points of elementals soared over the fence and into the motor pool. To their credit, the Falcon warriors were not surprised, but immediately responded with a flurry of infantry laser and shotgun fire.

Bal hit the ground and immediately cut loose with his anti-personnel weapon. Time seemed to slow as he carefully laid the fire into the Falcon warriors. He could almost see the plastic sabot petals coming off the non-lethal rounds as the low velocity rubber rounds hit one Falcon warrior after another. Bal found himself impressed how the infantry at first shrugged off the hits, returning fire. Perhaps they did not realize they had been hit, or they just assumed they were already dead and were going to go down shooting. They refused to give up, and they kept shooting even as the pain from the less than lethal rounds striking hard against their unarmored bodies forced them to the ground. It was clear they were not going to give up, that is until the crossfire from Caruthers' point began to chew into them. The Falcon mechwarriors never made it into the hanger, cut down by painful strikes from the rubber bullets.

It was over in less than a minute; the Falcon warriors realizing that they were beaten. One of the infantry rose in spite of the multiple hits he had taken, holding his Mauser laser rifle over his head, then setting it on the ground. The other warriors followed suit, dropping their weapons or kicking them away from where they lay.

Bal stepped forward, holding his left arm in the air, signaling the Jaguar warriors to cease fire. "Let us see to your wounded."

The Falcon warriors were all worse for the wear. Some had taken rounds in the face and even know where experiencing the pain and swelling of broken noses and eye orbits. On warrior spat several teeth from his mouth along with a wealth of blood. The Falcon mechwarriors perhaps had it the worst, huge welts already forming on their exposed limbs where the rounds had stuck. A point of Bal's warriors, cross-trained in field expedient medical techniques were already reaching into the medical packs strapped to the pelvic carriage of their suits for gauze and pressure bandages. One of the Falcon warriors, a tall and burly man stepped forward. His flak jacket was torn in a few places where the rubber rounds had shredded the fabric before hitting the ballistic material underneath. A large red welt stood out on his jaw where a round had struck but had yielded to the bone, a statement in itself to exceptional bone structure.

"You carried the day Smoke Jaguar, though I would not have believed the rumors were true before today. We are your isorla if you would have us."

"We will take you as isorla, and it is my earnest hope you will find honor and glory in the clan Smoke Jaguar."

The warrior let his head sag, "Some among our number are freeborn, sir. I included, I would request that before you relegate me to the work of a laborer or technician that you kill me here, clean. I have spent thirty years of my life as or training to be a warrior, I will not go back now."

Bal, felt his heart strings tug slightly for the proud Falcon infantry man. It was an unusual feeling for him to have a sense of kinship to a freeborn, but he could understand the feeling, he would have died before he lost his warrior status, this freeborn was not that different in this regard. "Negative, I claim you now as my Isorla, you will prove yourself to me and to my clan, and you will be abtakha. We are not the Jaguars of old, we recognize a warrior; freebirth or true, all who embrace the Jaguar will rise to glory and honor."

The Falcon raised his head, "I do not understand, it was never the Smoke Jaguar way to accept the freeborn."

"What name are you called by, warrior?" Bal asked over the external speakers.

"I am Point Commander Rothschild, how may I call you?"

Bal lifted the release handles on his armor, the head and chest plate rising on hydraulics. "I am Star Colonel Bal of the Fifth Special Forces Group. We value warrior spirit, Rothschild, and any man who would die before he surrendered his warrior honor is a warrior born. I do not see Solhamas and Freebirths here today, I see warriors who would fight to the death. Bring this same spirit to the Smoke Jaguars and one day you will be honored among our ranks."

"Then I accept the bondcord, Star Colonel Bal, from hence forth I am Smoke Jaguar, long live the clan."

Rothschild pulled a knife from his MOLLE gear and cut the Jade Falcon emblem from the left sleeve of his BDUs, handing it and the knife to Bal.

Bal extended a manipulator hand in refusal, "No, keep it, in memory of what made you who you are today. When you place the Jaguar on your arm, then I will take this from you, but never forget who you are and what makes you Smoke Jaguar."

Rothschild nodded, re-sheathing the knife and pushing the embroidered crest into a pocket.

"Vandal to Ancient Tracker Eight, come in eight."

Bal closed the forward hatch on his armor, "Eight here, report."

"We have secured the Garrison CP, however Star Colonel Icaza would not be taken alive, he fatally shot himself before we could secure him, sir."

Bal grimaced to himself, that was a loss they had not anticipated or desired, "And the others?"

"They are secured, eight, some minor casualties, they did not want to surrender the CP sir."

"Understandable, see to the injuries and prepare for exfil."

"I copy, my compliments, sir."

Bal keyed over to the Jaguar Command net, "Ancient Tracker Eight to Hard Place, come in."

Star Colonel Marko Osis' voice replied, "This is Hard Place."

"Bagera secured, send in the rocks."

"I copy eight, here comes the landslide, you are a credit to the uniform, eight. Hard Place, out."

* * *

Elizabeth Hazen Starport

Ironhold

Kerensky Cluster

January 6, 3062

1204 GST

Horse stepped from the loading ramp expecting the characteristic chill of an Ironhold winter; instead he was greeted with uncharacteristically warm weather and clear skies. As he descended the ramp an elemental honor guard in full battlearmor snapped to attention. The armor was pristine, painted in highly polished Falcon field green with bright yellow marking. Cocking the machineguns on the right arm upwards, bent at the elbow, then cross-rifle saluting with their left manipulator claws. It was done as one; all the elementals perfectly timed and impossibly crisp. It was a hollow gesture, Horse viewed such displays as a waste of time but it was a calculated move on the part of Marthe Pryde. In having an Honor Guard she was showing not only her unquestioning support of Horse and her freebirth warriors but also displaying the martial excellence of her clan. She was also probably baiting some of her opponents in the Council. She had gotten particularly good at doing so, then turning it back on them. Horse reflected that the likelihood that he would have ever received such a welcome under the tenure of any other Khan was slim at best. At the end of the Walkway Star Colonel Andrea Pershaw of the 12th Talon Cluster stood waiting to greet Horse. The peanut gallery of chatterweb reporters ate it all up. Within the hour this would be all over clan space. From the cordoned area they shouted their questions, asking for comment. Horse ignored them, returning the salute of the elementals sharply and accepting the greeting of Star Colonel Andrea Pershaw with a firm handshake.

"Star Colonel, it is good to see you on Ironhold. I have followed your exploits since the formation of the Cuirassiers with great interest; I hope some day my unit will be afforded the privilege of attending the training center."

Horse was a bit shaken by the genuinely warm greeting from the trueborn warrior, "Star Colonel Pershaw…it would be our honor to host your unit. It is good to be home."

"Ah, yes, you were born here, quiaff?"

"Aff, Star Colonel, but I meant it is good to be back on our clan's home."

"Shall we, Star Colonel Horse?" Pershaw gestured to the waiting "limo".

By Falcon standards it was about as ostentatious as you could get. It was nothing more than an armored street car with an extended passenger area of officers and high ranking members of the clan. A pair of warriors stood beside the hood, one clearly the driver and the other a security guard, both were armed.

"Of course, Star Colonel Pershaw, I do not want to keep the Khan waiting."

As they approached the driver opened the door to the passenger compartment and Horse climbed in, somewhat embarrassed by the ceremony. No sooner had Horse taken a seat on the passenger couch then he noticed Marthe Pryde on a seat facing the couch. Her face showed marked displeasure and her crossed arms and legs echoed her facial expression.

"We lost Bagera."

"Wh-what?" Horse stammered.

"Two days ago, a pre-dawn raid. We have no idea of how many there were, but as we speak they have a full cluster garrisoning the city and have begun moving in technical personnel. But it gets worse, from as near as we can tell they have at least five units on planet based on the colors we have seen."

As Marthe spoke Pershaw entered the vehicle and the door to the passenger compartment was closed.

"Surely they are running under strength." Horse replied, trying to find some glimmer of light in the dark prognosis.

"Well, the cluster in Bagera is not. We count five full trinaries, two of them novas, and its running heavy, a lot of assaults and heavies…it is an assault cluster for certain."

Horse rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Are two clusters going to be enough?"

Marthe shook her head, "They are going to have to be, I cannot afford to commit additional forces. The Ice Hellions and Steel Vipers are moving units aggressively. It is almost as if they know we are having problems on Huntress. There is a Goliath Scorpion unit that has been committed to provide aid given their interests on the continent of Abysmal."

"The 35th I assume, they are a solid unit." Pershaw added.

"As near as I can tell it is actually only a single trinary, but the commander is rumored to be a first rate warrior by any clan's standard." Marthe answered, her expression still sour.

Horse nodded, "Can we rely at all on the Inner Sphere garrison in Lootera?"

"Their commander has not outwardly agreed to any direct assistance, but we have reached an agreement to allow our forces to land at the facilities in Lootera and operate out of the area."

Horse frowned, "What about New Andry?"

Marthe sighed, rubbing her brow, "By the time your cluster and the Guards arrive, we will have likely already lost New Andry. Pacification is all we can hope for at this point. Falcon Eyrie is so remote there is little likelihood that it will be taken. When we arrive at headquarters I will give you the full briefing."

The remainder of the trip was largely silent. Horse sensed there was something more that Marthe could not say in the presence of Star Colonel Pershaw, whatever it was it weighed heavily on her, he could see that. Even at the height of the Viper campaign in the invasion corridor, she had not seemed this distracted or bothered.

Upon reaching the Clan Headquarters building, Marthe and Horse exited the vehicle which left to return Star Colonel Pershaw to the 12th's headquarters. They entered a secure elevator from the headquarter garage and Marthe inputted a security code that would allow the elevator to access the secure command levels high in the building.

"Horse, there were things I could not say in the car, this concerns here are far bigger than just the security of Huntress."

"I assumed as much."

"Horse, I am placing a huge burden on you, and I am truly sorry, but you are the only one I can trust."

"The numbers we are facing do not concern me, my Khan."

"There is more to it than that." Marthe let out a long sigh, "You have to act as my dignitary."

Horse balked, "We are going to deal with the Jaguars?"

"No, not that, something that may be a good bit worse." Marthe paused, as if trying to force herself to say something she did not want to. "Victor Steiner-Davion is bringing a force from his Star League Defense Force to assist us in the pacification."

Horse's jaw dropped.

"I know, I know…it was a hard reached decision. But there may be gain in this for us."

"I am not sure I can see the overview in this."

"I am not entirely sure I can either."

Horse rubbed his chin, his face screwed up in thought, "And you wish for me to be your representative to him?"

"I need someone I can trust, who can place the concerns of the clan over their personal sense of honor. This is a dezgra duty to be certain. If at all possible, I will suppress the truth from ever becoming known in the council or among the clans as a whole, but I cannot guarantee it. You are uniquely equipped to weather that storm and I can be certain you will not dishonor the clan in regards to the agreements we made."

"What of Ravil Pryde? Surely you cannot count on his cooperation, he has to much ego to go along with this."

"That is why I am cutting him out of the loop."

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. The two exited and strode down a long corridor to the Khan's Office. At the door Marthe input another code and the reinforced doors opened, allowing them entry. Marthe activated the lights and crossed to her desk. Horse was struck by how austere the office was. Even as a Jade Falcon whose creed was never to be wasteful, this was Spartan, a Khan certainly deserved better accommodations than these.

Marthe dropped into her chair and leaned back, "Have a seat Horse."

"Yes, my Khan."

"Horse…call me Marthe."

"If you say so." Horse sat in a chair in front of the desk.

"First off, I am placing you in command of this operation."

"I understood that it was a joint operation between the Irregulars and the Guards."

"Given the situation I am giving you provisional command, your experience gives you an edge over Ravil Pryde, particularly on Huntress."

"He will likely make a challenge when we land."

"I have placed strict orders that personal honor duels and trials are strictly forbidden for the duration of the operation. He will not be allowed to attend 'Joint Task Force' briefings. He will chafe under this, but I have made it abundantly clear that if he does not play ball, he will be transferred back to the homeworlds. Galaxy Commander Hazen has already signed off on the orders and we are holding that over his head."

Horse cocked a brow.

"This is an issue that is bigger than his personal ambitions. On the other hand, I know you can be counted on."

"Why is that exactly?" Horse gave Marthe a cryptic look.

"Because you are better than that."

Horse tugged at his beard, hiding a slowly spreading smile.

"I would like to think I know you Horse. I can see how this would appeal to your sense of a warrior being more than the sum total of his battlefield performance and test scores. A warrior can show honor to his adversaries. War also makes for strange allies, in this we can count Victor Davion as an ally. He has made concessions as well. If he does not uphold his end of the bargain, he will be taken as bondsman to our clan."

Horse retracted almost as if struck by a blow. "That is…a large concession."

"Which is why I felt that in this situation he could be trusted, and why I am committed to ensuring that we behave with the same measure of honor."

"How did all of this come about?"

Marthe sighed again, shaking her head slightly, "Vlad Ward of the Wolves helped broker the deal."

Horse scoffed, "Strange allies indeed…"

"I can count on you, quiaff?" Marthe looked Horse right in the eye.

Horse straightened up, pulling his sidearm from its holster and putting it on the desk, "The day you have to ask me those words in earnest, put one right between my eyes."

Marthe smiled softly, "Thank you, Horse. I never doubted you, but I had to hear it from your lips."

Horse took the weapon and reholstered it, leaning back in the chair.

"There is another matter I would speak with you of." Marthe said, biting her lower lip.

Horse cocked a brow again, "What would that be?"

"In 3000, Khan Kerlin Ward ordered the freeborns Jaime and Joshua to take a unit into the Inner Sphere to gain intelligence on what we would face during the invasion. When he did so, it was with the incentive that upon their return he would create the bloodname Wolf. I have had this matter researched extensively and as it turns out, it is within a Khan's right to create an exclusive bloodname for warriors whose status as freeborns are offset by marked service to the clans."

Horse's brows furrowed, he was not sure he was comfortable with where this was going.

"If…for whatever reason…you fall on Huntress, or if you should fall in combat before my tenure as Khan has ended, I am going to form the Bloodname house of Tyle, you will be its progenitor. The politics associated with this kind of decision would prevent me from doing so if you are still alive. Part of me hopes that it never comes to that, in a way I would almost prefer there never be a house Tyle if it meant losing you to enemy action or some idiotic trial. The most I can promise you now is that when Kael Pershaw finally succumbs to his age, I will be recommending you take control of Gamma when Rozendo Hazen ascends to the position of Loremaster."

"Marthe, I…"

"I know, it is not an 'honor' you would want, but I cannot accept the thought that we would lose you forever because of your birth status, you are to fine a warrior, to much of a Jade Falcon. I know Joanna has already told you that we have taken giftake from you."

Horse nodded, letting out a slow exasperated breath, "I was…informed, yes."

"The first sibko containing your DNA sample was decanted three days ago."

Horse nodded slowly, his mind reeling, this was something he had never thought he would be confronted with; suddenly there was a new sense of responsibility.

"Can I ask whose DNA it was combined with?"

"Whose do you think it was combined with?"

Horse actually chuckled, "Well, my first guess would be Joanna's as some sort of a sick joke to play on the universe."

Marthe's expression was one of horror, "Sick joke indeed, I do not even want to consider what set of traits that combination would bring to the table."

Horse laughed harder, "I can't be THAT bad!"

Marthe grimaced, "If it is true that trueborns adopt some of the personality traits of their parents they would likely end up challenging themselves to the circle of equals."

Horse let out a deep bellowing belly laugh at the concept of tiny versions of himself or Joanna arguing with themselves.

Marthe allowed herself a smile, it was a funny concept, but not so much so as the idea that Horse, who knew Joanna perhaps better than anyone, found it so funny.

"Actually, we combined your DNA with…Aidan Pryde's. It seemed somehow, fitting."

Horse smiled, pulling at his beard, it was indeed fitting, "House Pryde is really in for it now. You are combining the unstoppable force with the immovable object."

"The genetic equivalent of dividing by zero, a mystery the universe cannot provide an answer to. The initial assessment is that the combination went well, the sibkin are very hearty specimens and show excellent early cognition. It is a strange request, but…would you consider providing names for them?"

Horse balked, "Me?"

"I think it would be poetic justice. I have arranged for transportation to the sibko facility where they are currently being cared for, at your convenience of course."

"I suppose I could…but in my personal experience people always grow up hating the names their 'parents' choose for them."

"Speaking from experience, 'Tyle'?"

Horse grimaced, "Precisely. But, I will give it a shot, I haven't shrunk from any duty you have tasked me with thus far…but this could be a start."

Horse shot Marthe a grin with the last part, causing the Falcon Khan to chuckle.

"Do not make me pull rank, Horse."

"Oh, I would not think it will come to that, but if you suddenly see reports about sibkin with names like Martheyujherk, you will know why."

Marthe laughed, a long genuine laugh, the kind she had not let out in quite some time, she found that it felt good.

"If you do not have anything else pressing at the moment, I would like to go over these prospective unit rosters for the Second Cuirassiers and the additions to the first."

Horse nodded, "Of course, I had figured you would have some input or questions regarding my choices."


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer:

If it doesn't appear in a source book or authorized publication, it's my intellectual property. Everything else belongs to Wizkids and/or Fanpro or contractual agents there-of. © 2001-2009 FanPro, LLC. © 2001-2009 WizKids, Inc.  
MechWarrior, BattleMech, 'Mech and AeroTech are registered trademarks of WizKids, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

All refrences to the Clans, Star League, as Well as specific Historical characters is done under the provision that the author will not profit from their use.

The author has not received fiscal (either monetary or in the form of services) compensation for the creation and publication of this piece. Attempts to solicit the author for rights to the text, characters, or ideas contained here-in will be considered as constituting a breach of the user agreement and will be immediately reported.

* * *

**Battletech: Resistance**

* * *

**Chapter 12**

New Andry

Huntress

Kerensky Cluster

January 7, 3062

0913 GST

______

Aldus Wirth gazed out of the cockpit canopy at New Andry, the ordered rows of buildings, the mech hangers, and the warehouses appeared so perfectly pristine. With Bagera secured three days before, it was just this city and Lootera before the Jaguars regained complete control of Jaguar Prime, at that point he would have the material and assets necessary to expose Perigard Zalman's duplicity before the council and demand that Clan Smoke Jaguar be restored to the rolls of the Clans. There had been some surprise when he announced that the Psi Galaxy command trinary would be taking the city. It was none that the Jade Falcons had four stars of mechs and a binary of conventional infantry in the city. Many of the warriors in the command trinary where young and inexperienced, and while the Falcon warriors were considered by the standards of the clans to be sub-par warriors, they had experience and numbers on their side. This had not worried Aldus, but he did want to keep casualties to a minimum, for both parties involved. His Galaxy was all the remained of the Smoke Jaguar touman, and it was a dire necessity to flesh it out however possible; the Jade Falcon warriors were just the mechanism needed to that end. His plan was a gamble, but it was the surest way to ensure that casualties were minimized, after the fall of Bagera, the Falcons would no doubt remain on high alert to prevent any further covert incursions.

Four kilometers away, the Falcon mechs were moving to defensive positions as the infantry scrambled to their bunkers and pillboxes to provide whatever cover they could for the mech forces. Air-raid sirens blared, non-combatants ran to find whatever cover they could, no doubt the word had reached the New Andry streets already that Bagera had fallen to a early morning raid, the planet knew that the Smoke Jaguars were back and this likely terrified the locals, former Smoke Jaguar low caste members, who would be expecting terrible reprisals for their shift in allegiance.

He was tired of duplicity and underhandedness. His warriors had acquitted themselves so well working as raiders, he was proud of them, but the kinds of actions they had undertaken wounded his pride, what they had been forced to do was like a red-hot goad sticking in his gut. The demands of his honor required that this battle be fought in the clan way. From a more pragmatic position it also would allow him to minimize casualties and damage to the city itself. He opened his comm. and issued his challenge.

"I am Galaxy Commander Aldus Wirth of the Smoke Jaguar Psi Galaxy, we lay claim to New Andry as an ancestral home of my people. The Psi Galaxy Command Trinary will take this city in the traditions and ways of the clans. What units defend this city?"

There was no guarantee that the Falcons would recognize the batchal. If they did not, he would be forced to assault the city proper, the collateral damage would be horrific, a thing he had hoped to avoid. The channels remained quiet, and Aldus felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. His unit would certainly prevail, their equipment was far superior to what the Jade Falcons had arrayed against him, but there would certainly be massive loss of life. Civilian casualties would almost certainly run high and many of the Falcon warriors would likely be killed. There were many skilled laborers and technicians in the city, a vital commodity that he had no desire to jeopardize with a full fledged assault.

"This is Star Captain Greogor of Trinary Delta, Sigma Solohma Cluster. We thank you Galaxy Commander for your courtesy. We mean to defend this city with all forces arrayed here."

Aldus made a calculated bluff, "Star Captain Greogor, a full fledged battle will cause needless death and destruction, I will bid away the remaining 14 units of my trinary if you and two seconds will meet me in the surrounding fields to decide this matter."

Silence followed.

This offer would give the Falcons a significant advantage in terms of weight and a slight edge in firepower. No single mech they fielded could hope to compete with his _Cauldron Born_, but as a group, they could let attrition work on their side. The question was, would they accept the offer which clearly gave them the edge, or "poison the well" be turning this confrontation into a full fledged battle.

The comm. whined then the voice of Star Captain Gregor issued forth, "Bargained well and done, Galaxy Commander, we will meet you in the field to resolve this trial."

Wirth let out a sigh of relief, "I applaud your wisdom Star Captain, please transmit the coordinates where you wish the trial to be fought."

"The field in which your forces are currently arrayed will suffice Galaxy Commander, nothing further can be served by changing the location."

"Very well." Wirth keyed over to his command network and issued his orders. "All units, fall back to the tree line and power down, this trial will be fought in good faith."

The hulking mechanized behemoths signaled their compliance by turning, the huge feet digging deep into the soil as they spun and shambled off to the trees. Upon reaching the edge they lowered their arms and powered down.

From the edge of the city along the wide freight road at _Conjurer,_ _Glass Spider_, and _Bane_ emerged. They were clearly giving up something in terms of tonnage, but each mech brought a unique ability to the battlefield. The Conjurer was a robust brawler on the upper end of the medium weight class with good maneuverability and a ferocious array of medium and close range weaponry. The _Glass Spider's_ twin Omega 12 Gauss Rifles could destroy over a ton and a half of armor per salvo. The Bane was the wild card, a much maligned niche fighter, usually relegated to anti-aircraft duty, this one appeared to mount an array of missile systems, the pristine black and yellow stripe patterned tube hatches covering the 30 long range missile tubes in each arm.

The _Conjure_r was clearly the sacrifice mech, unless the pilot was exceptionally talented he would be cut down by his _Cauldron Born's_ fire, but in doing so he could open up enough holes in his armor for the Glass Spider to exploit, and if it came to that, the Bane as well.

"Galaxy Commander?" the young but uncharacteristically gruff voice of Star Commander Sutner came over the local command frequency, the modulation of the comm. frequency adding a strangely artificial tone to the voice.

"What is it Sutner?"

"Sir, we are detecting personnel shifts up and down their line of defense. It appears two points of their infantry have fallen back into the city proper."

Aldus felt a twisting in his gut, "Where were they headed?"

"Impossible to determine, sir, but their infantry position received a tight band transmission moments before they displaced."

"They are poisoning the well…" Wirth muttered, almost to himself.

"Sir?"

"Nothing…we have a change of plans. I am going to turn the trial into a melee, maintain your position and orders, understood?"

There was a moment of silence, undoubtedly Sutner was questioning the logic of the order; a melee would put the Galaxy Commander at a three to one weight disadvantage. While he had the advantage in terms of the power of his weapons systems, Wirth could quickly become the victim of attrition.

"Understood, sir, all units will comply."

Wirth cut the command frequency and took a deep breath. He was well aware what he was getting himself in to, but unless he ended the trial of possession quickly, the Falcon troops would have enough time to sabotage the assets they had hoped to seize. The risk level was high, there was a very good chance he would be shot down, taken as Isorla, or even killed outright. Without his leadership, he was certain that the Jaguars would become easy prey to the Falcons or other clans as they moved in to make sure they were dead for good this time. The little tendrils of doubt were creeping through his mind, awaking that most ancient feeling, one he had thought he was immune to; but fear had a way of overcoming the most solid confidence and rigorous conditioning. He couldn't deny the fact; he was afraid, perhaps even terrified.

"Aldus, you have had an interesting life, this is just another path you have to take."

He had said the same thing to himself four other times in his life. The first had been when staring down a _Warhawk_ in his first trial of position, the _Mad Dog_ he was piloting seeming suddenly impossibly small in comparison with the assault mech that seemed to bristle with death…his death. He triumphed, he went down the path and emerged on the other side a Star Commander. The summer of 3050, on Albiero, his unit had come under a heavy artillery barrage. He had to silence the guns, he took the path, he went down it, and emerged victorious, earning him a commendation and nomination for his bloodname. There has been many paths he had taken, some easier than others, but never had he shrunk for any challenge placed before him, all the decisions lead up other decisions, and they had finally placed him here this day, making the decision to fight what was likely a hopeless trial, but he would go down the path.

Pushing the throttle forward, his _Cauldron Born_ strode to the middle of the open field, to his right he saw the trio of Falcon mechs advance. Aldus opened the command console in the mech's HUD, shunting additional power to his capacitor banks, "hot" loading his array of laser weapons, it would likely damage the power coils, but that was a matter that could be attended to later, the ability to get of a first and second volley quickly took precedent to the logistics of repairing them after the battle. Heat spiked as generators strained against the power demands. Another command in the console and another motor started feeding rounds down the ammunition flexi to the Model SH 203mm Cannon jutting from the right torso. The fire readiness indicator for the weapon flashed green, indicating the first HEAP round was chambered. Inputting another command he tied the array of 15 heat sinks to the arm mounted lasers, ensuring they would dump their heat quickly and avoid circuit scramming. He would be running hot the entire fight, he had done this many times before, but he still had passing concern about a potential heat ignition of the cordite propellant in the three thousand kilogram ammunition bin in his vehicle's left torso.

"Smoke Jaguar warrior, I, Mechwarrior Landra, challenge you to individual combat, by the way of the clans, do you accept this challenge?"

The _Conjurer_ pulled out in front of the other two mechs, raising its arms in challenge.

Of the Falcon mechs present, it was the most well rounded fighter. The warrior clearly intended to use the superior mobility to her advantage, hoping her 44h Pulse laser would find an opening in his armor and end the fight quickly, barring that, by sacrificing her machine she would open up enough holes for the _Glass Spider_ or _Bane_ to finish the job. Aldus, of course, had no intention of giving her the time to do so.

Aldus moved in under the 400 meter mark, the _Conjurer_ stopped dead, not wanting to close the range any further with the heavier mech.

"No, I do no accept the challenge, you will all face me, now."

Aldus pushed forward towards the Falcon _Conjurer_, awaiting the first volley of shots from the assembled Falcon war machines.

Nothing happened.

His counter-challenge had taken them by surprise, giving him a few precious moments to start the attack.

Firing first would give him momentum, momentum that might carry him through what was, by most assessments, a hopeless battle.

The targeting systems made his distance to target 300 meters, and he traced the reticle high over the _Conjurer's_ torso, remembering an old maxim of marksmanship he made his target the medium laser housing in the enemy mech's right torso. A small target, but one that would ensure that his shots came in tight and neat. Squeezing the trigger, he instinctively closed his right eye to avoid the sight diminishing effects of the muzzle flash from the Autocannon at his right. A staccato quintet of bangs quickly followed by a second quintet momentarily deafened him as two streams of High Explosive rounds arced in on their target.

Without waiting for visual confirmation of his shot placement he ghosted his reticle over the _Glass Spider_ which had remained at a judicious range. Quickly indexing his pair of Series 7K lasers he sent twin bursts of deuterium fluoride amplified energy onto his target. The high megawatt streams left gouts of atomized metal smoke pouring from a pair of neat holes in the mech's midline. Without pause the Falcon warrior sent a pair of nickel ferrous rounds speeding Aldus' way. One was a bit high, sailing just clear of the Left torso mounted 7Ja laser. The next round was better placed, digging into his mech's right arm, ripping a long furrow in the tight bundles of ferro fibrous armor.

Aldus switched his attention back to the _Conjurer_ which was rising from a knee, its right torso and arm had been savaged, little remained of the right arm other than tattered myomers and partially melted and cored endo steel. The 44h laser, which had been his primary concern, was still connected to the power plant by its power transfer cables, but it sat at an unusual angle, the damage to the mech's skeleton would reduce accuracy.

If the next two shots from the Glass Spider were on target, Aldus could lose one of this 7JA lasers and the 14a Pulse laser, he had to get some worth out of them now, he drew a bead on the _Conjurer's_ right side and let fly. The 7JA's nearly invisible beam cored into the exposed internals of the torso while the 14a painted the mech's right leg with barely perceptible ruby darts; blackened smoke rose from the two locations as super heated metal vaporized.

A missile alarm warbled as 60 high explosive warheads sailed into his AO, Aldus squeezed his eyes shut as thirty six of the missiles struck home, sowing small explosions and fire blackened pits over his mechs left torso, midline, and legs. The damage spread was manageable, no single section was close to being compromised yet, but another volley would put him in the danger zone. The stricken _Conjurer_ swung sharply right, presenting its pristine left side to Aldus, the pilot unwilling to be taken out of the fight by another strike to the severely damaged right side. The _Glass Spider_ had to be taken out of the fight before it could capitalize on the damage inflicted by the Bane. Pushing forward, Aldus closed with the _Glass Spider_, still out of range of his Autocannon, but not for much longer. Aldus painted the centerline of the mech with his reticle then squeezed the trigger again, sending another pulse from the left arm mounted 7K onto the target. Another neat hole, opened up adjoining the opening already in the mech's armor, through the black smoke he saw a waved of intense heat, roiling in the air, distorting the image of the mech slightly to his naked eyes. The beam had been tight enough on the previous hole to strike the heavy reactor shielding breaching it. The _Glass Spider_ remained standing, but the heat had to be spiking, it would have little effect on the mechs ability to utilize its cool running Gauss weapons, but as the reactor fought to maintain bottle integrity with the sudden shift in heat distribution, the mech would find itself running at reduced efficiency. Another lucky break for Aldus.

Inside the _Bane_, the pilot must be cursing the feed mechanisms to run faster, at this rate, two of the Falcon mechs were dangerously close to being out of the fight, and in a standoff Aldus', albeit damaged, _Cauldron Born_ heavily outmatched the Falcon fire support platform. As he skirted past the stricken Conjurer, Aldus eyed the rear-view camera, drawing its reticle over the smaller Falcon mech and firing both aft mounted 7Ja lasers. Firing more than effect than for accuracy, he was none-the-less rewarded with the sight of the entire right side of the _Conjurer_ smashing to the ground, clipping the leg as it did, the sudden loss of weight threw the mech off balance and as the warrior inside wrestled with the controls, the mech one again was forced to a knee.

Almost as revenge, one of the _Glass Spider's_ gauss rounds hammered into the midline of Aldus' _Cauldron Born_, the resounding bang of metal meeting metal at high speeds filling his cockpit, momentarily drowning out the heat alarm that was even now blaring. In the excitement Aldus had failed to pay attention to his heat track. Instinctively his eyes went over to the temperature read on his ammunition bin that was even now reporting temperature of 215 degrees. If his heat spiked any further the SPCG could ignite, blowing the bin and effectively gutting his mech. He could only allow himself a shot from the Cannon right now, and give the heat sinks time to dissipate some of the heat from his systems. Slowing to little more than a trot, Aldus once again drew the reticle over the midline of the _Glass Spider_ and pulled the trigger, releasing it before the trigger returned. A single brap sounded as five rounds arced in on the _Glass Spider_, hitting dead center and ripping through, melting reactor shielding and housing alike as gouts of white hot copper speared through. The Falcon marksman mech died, the fusion bottle losing containment and allowing the rapidly cooling reaction mass pour out through its wounds. Explosive bolts around the cockpit shielding fired and the command couch rocketed up and out of the mech, sailing in a high arc before deploying a parachute and landing near the tree line. Aldus glanced to his heat track, praying for the impossible, but expecting something less than that. The bins had cooled…some, but the heat level was still high.

"Smoke Jaguar warrior, this is Star Captain Greogor, I request on behalf of my comrades that Mechwarriors Hared and Landra be allowed to withdraw."

Perhaps it was a stalling tactic; perhaps it was the commander showing genuine concern for his warriors.

"Star Captain Greogor, this is Galaxy Commander Aldus Wirth, I grant your request. Your warriors may retire from the field. Let this final contest between you and I decide the day."

"Bargained well and done, Galaxy Commander, stand and prepare to receive."

With that, the _Bane_ unleashed another rain of LRMs.

Aldus tightened his grip on the controls, as the Missile Alarm roared in the cockpit. His mech shuddered under the weight of the explosions. The mech bucked as the sudden shift in weight characteristics threatened to topple the machine. Opening his eyes he saw damage reports flooding his HUD. His mech had been virtually stripped of effective armor cover. The next volley would certainly find its way into the critical internal structure unless he ended the fight now. The heat in the ammunition bin had dropped to a manageable 148 degrees. The _Bane_ stood still, ready to receive, its armor was pristine, and with at least two tons of armor covering all the exposed faces, it stood a reasonable chance of surviving any poorly grouped salvo.

Aldus's fingers sailed across his command console, linking all his forward facing weapons as he placed his reticle over the slim center torso structure joining the wide squat upper section to the platform locomotion housing to which the mech's legs were attached. Gritting his teeth, knowing that he could not give the Bane enough time to get another volley off, he tugged the firing stud and held it, forcing the trigger to break a second time after the initial return. He heard almost nothing except for the bray of the heat alarm as the four lasers and 10 203mm HE rounds tore the _Bane_ in half. The broad upper torso and arms fell forward, hitting the ground with a deafening bane, sending clouds of dust into the air as the locomotion assemble and its lifeless legs teetered then slumped to the ground as myomers and servos deprived of power collapsed.

The minutes seemed to pass with agonizing slowness as a Falcon rescue crew in a technical rolled out of the city and up to the eviscerated fire support mech. The hatch popped open, and as the crew scrambled towards the cockpit, the Warrior in side emerged, favoring one leg. The warrior, leaned back against his cockpit, pulling of his neurohelmet and cooling jacket, dropping them as he did on the slanted torso. Then, turning to face Aldus' mech, standing to attention, grimacing as he did, the left leg was likely broken. Holding the at attention posture, he saluted Aldus. In response Aldus raised and lowered the arms of his mech, returning the salute. From behind, Aldus heard the heavy thumps and tremors of the remainder of his command trinary approaching at a trot. The comm. panel in the cockpit lit up, indicating incoming transmission. Aldus opened the channel.

"Galaxy Commander, a stunning performance, sir." Star Commander Sutner's voice was tinged with tones of adulation.

"We have carried the day, Star Commander, but the Falcons fought with courage. Hold your current position, I would speak with their Star Captain Greogor."

"Aff, sir, we will hold."

Aldus powered down the _Cauldron Born_, then unplugging the various interface plugs from his neurohelmet, cooling jackets, and bio-feedback pads on his arms and legs opened the hatch to the mech, kicking out the emergency decent ladder and climbed down. The mech steamed in the early morning air, innumerable burned holes in the armor bearing witness to the pounding he had taken at the hands of the _Bane_. He walked across the open field, savoring the sensation of the cool mist on his skin, finally realizing exactly how hot it had become in the cockpit. As he drew close, a group of five Falcon infantry men, dropped the magazines from their assault rifles, then worked the charging handles to clear the chambers. Wirth strode past them and over to the mech where medtechs were applying a splint to Star Captain Greogor's leg. Waving them off, he stood, his face screwing into an expression of agony as he did.

Aldus held up a hand, motioning for him to sit so they medtechs could finish their ministrations.

Before he could speak, Wirth was addressed by the Falcon warrior, "Galaxy Commander Aldus Wirth, you have bested us, by virtue of combat you have proved your right to the city of New Andry, I have but one request, sir."

"What would you ask of me, Star Captain." Wirth stood, arms crossed, trying to look lordly and majestic, but feeling somewhat ridiculous for doing so.

"Please, honorable sir, treat your new isorla fairly. The civilian castes in the city are afraid of what fate might befall them. I gave them my oath that no ill would befall them."

Aldus felt wounded, the reputation of the Jaguars preceded him, and their recent actions had done little to quell the fears of the low born who were now his charges. "You have my oath and my bond that no ill shall befall any who are now counted Isorla of the Clan Smoke Jaguar. We have learned from our mistakes, our paw no longer strikes with such idle disregard. Surely the events of this day illustrate our desire to be worthy masters."

"You could have leveled the city with ease, your restraint surprised me, but indeed, it does illustrate a new trait for the Smoke Jaguars."

"In regards to your men, if I were to grant you Hegira, where would you go?"

The Falcon Warrior's shoulders sunk, "There is no place for us left to go that is practical, we stand as your isorla. I would not presume to beg more indulgence of you…"

"But?"

"We are Solhama or freeborn, we would be of little value to you as anything more than technicians, I ask that you allow those who would desire to commit bondsref before being relegated to low caste lives."

"Actually, Star Captain, it was my desire that you and your warriors would one day become abtakha."

"But sir…we have many freebirths among our number."

"That is of little concern to me, a warrior is a warrior, quiaff?"

"Aff, Galaxy Commander."

"If there are those among you that would prefer death to life as a Smoke Jaguar, I cannot deny your request, but I ask that you talk to them and tell them that their defeat does not signal the end to their life as a warrior. This applies to all of you, freebirth or true."

Greogor nodded, a hint of admiration in his eyes.

The Falcon warrior reached for a comm. receiver and spoke into it. "All troops, this is Star Captain Greogor, stand down, repeat, stand down. Suspend all operations, assemble at the parade grounds."

Handing the receiver to a comm. tech he issued an order, "Patch us into the civil defense network."

The comm. tech did as he was bade, typing in a series of commands then handing the receiver to the Falcon warrior to waved it to Wirth. "I presume you would like to address your new people, sir."

Wirth nodded, taking the receiver and holding it a moment, contemplating what he would say. Finally, he raised the receiver to his head, "Now hear this, now hear this. All citizens of New Andry; this is Galaxy Commander Aldus Wirth of Clan Smoke Jaguar. Have no fear, our desire is to embrace you as kin of the Smoke Jaguar. No reprisals will be taken against you, no property will be liberated from you, no families will be split. Please, return to your homes immediately and collect all your identification papers, shortly, points of elementals will begin patrolling the city taking a census of all citizens. Please have your papers ready so as to expedite the process and avoid any unnecessary complications. Again, we bear you no ill will, and seek to visit no violence upon you. As of right now, you are Smoke Jaguars, and we will treat you as we do all valued members of the clan. Honor and diligence…that is all."

* * *

Dropship Timothy McSweeny

Docked with the Jerome Winson

26.8 Parsecs Rimward of Huntress

January 7, 3062

0723 Zulu

_______

"Ray, I swear, if you fondle that knife anymore you are going to have to buy it a wedding ring." Tiaret scolded.

Butts, flipped the knife around in his hand, rolling the handle as he did, "Eunice likes the way I play with her, gettin' jealous?"

Tiaret sneered, "Yes, that is it precisely, I want to be the one fondling 'Eunice'."

"Don't make me turn this car around." Victor chided breathlessly as he approached.

"What's the word, skipper?" Butts asked as he dug the tip of the knife into a crate and rested his hands on the pommel.

"Star Colonel Vickers informs me we are one jump from the Huntress system; line of departure time at twenty one thirty. At that point, a Jade Falcon Titan will rendezvous and provide cover to Lootera airspace." Davion replied.

"Beggin' your pardon sir, but are you sure we can trust the commander of the Falcon boat?" Butts inquired.

Tiaret grunted agreement with Butts' assessment.

"Khan Pryde hand picked the commander of the Falcon Titan, he's a freeborn that tested up to warrior caste, this is going to get him a promotion to executive officer on a warship after this."

Tiaret cocked a brow, "Yes, but on what conditions?"

"That I get to Huntress alive. He has already been relaying information to Star Colonel Vickers, he's taking this very seriously."

Butts shrugged, "Well, between our boats, we have him a bit more than outgunned if he tries anything tricky, anyway."

"What's the status on your troops, Ray?" Victor inquired, changing the subject.

"Locked, cocked, and ready to rock, sir."

"Tiaret?"

"The infantry is ready, sir. Everything has been triple checked and up to muster and then some."

"That's what I like to hear. Have everyone grab some shut eye before debarkation at twenty one thirty, I'm not sure what we're going to be looking at on the ground, communications out of Lootera have been spotty."

"Remind me again, what are we looking at in the way of reinforcements." Tiaret inquired, chewing on her lower lip.

"Khan Pryde had committed two elite clusters to the operation."

Tiaret grunted, "Which probably translates to a PGC and a few trinaries of Solhomas."

"I haven't told anyone else about this yet, so keep it under your hat, you two. Khan Pryde tapped the Falcon Guards and some cluster under a freebirth warrior named Star Colonel Horse or something for this." Victor almost whispered.

Tiaret straightened, "Horse? The freebirth Horse?"

"Yeah, that's the way I understood it. Is there something wrong?"

"Horse is something of a famed warrior, he was Aidan Pryde's right hand for a number of years. The Jade Falcon remembrance sings his praises in several places."

Butts nodded, "Intel reports put him pretty high on the threat list of units operating out of Sudaten. Last report I saw had him in charge of an elite three trinary group that would spear-head any Gamma Galaxy actions above the truce line, that man has his shit together, real strac dude."

Victor looked at Butts quizzically, "I never saw a report like that?"

"Course you didn't, sir, it was a LOKI report."

"Then how the hell did you see it?"

"I've got friends in low places, sir."

"Christ Ray, I think I'm going to reassign you to a Rho unit after this."

"I'd really prefer if you didn't, sir."

Tiaret and Victor chuckled.

"Who are you attached to, anyway, Ray?" Tiaret inquired.

"That's above your pay-grade, ma'am."

Victor gave Ray a side-long glance, "Ray, who are you attached to, anyway?"

"It's above your pay grade too, sir."

Tiaret crowed, "Some commander of the SLDF you are! You do not even know the chain of command!"

Victor shrugged, "Works better that way, if I don't know what sneaky business is going on I can honestly deny any knowledge."

Butts clapped Victor on the back, "That's what kept your old man's nose clean, God rest his soul."

Victor grunted, remembering how much he truly missed his parents, but refusing to let it show, "Guess I'll turn into a politician yet, huh?"

Tiaret glared at Victor, "Don't you DARE."

* * *

Dropship Arthur Haselrig

Docked with the Emerald Caravel

126.4 Parsecs Rimward of Huntress

January 7, 3062

0941 Zulu

______

Five jumpship transfers in a week, and still two more to go before they made Huntress space; it wasn't so much that the transfers themselves were tedious, all the Falcon warriors had to do was wait, but it was a reminder that they weren't to the battle yet. It would still be almost a week before they could make planetfall and start the operation in earnest. The waiting was the problem, and it was what was chewing at Joanna the most. At the other end of the staging bay, Marx Icaza and his star of elementals practiced martial art drills and did calisthenics. Joanna envied the way they could seem to turn off the anticipation and fall into a routine; they had followed one diligently every day since they had taken off from Sudaten. Joanna had run simulation after simulation with the warriors of her Trinary, but no matter how many they did, it just kept reminding her that real combat was just beyond her reach and the waiting was eating away at her.

"Star Captain, I trust I am not interrupting you?"

Joanna turned to see Star Captain Gisselle standing holding an armful of folders and briefs.

"What do you need, Star Captain?" Joanna grunted.

"I wanted your take on these." The younger warrior replied, laying the stack of folders on the table Joanna occupied.

"You are talking to the wrong person if you want clerical advice."

The younger warrior laughed, a soft girlish giggle that Joanna found herself hating despite her best efforts.

"Oh no, these are mission briefs and reports coming from Huntress."

Joanna frowned, "I don't recall hearing about these."

Gisselle sat down, "They just came in, the Star Colonel had them sent while the drive recharged."

Joanna grabbed a folder from the pile and opened it, "Well, let us take a look."

Joanna perused the first page, it was loaded with the mechanical language of the intelligence branch of the Jade Falcon touman, boring, non-engaging. Flipping the page she saw a fuzzy image of a suit of battle armor, while it did resemble the standard elemental battle armor, it seemed larger, more powerful looking, the weapons array looked more formidable. She could just make out the Smoke Jaguar clan insignia on the right pauldron. The caption beneath read "Possible Smoke Jaguar prototype armor as seen in the raid on Bagera"

"Kerensky's blood…"

Gisselle looked up, "What, what is it?"

"Look at this, the jags have been busy." Joanna handed the folder to Gisselle who accepted it and looked down at the picture.

The younger officer let out a low whistle. "I recognize that laser configuration, it is a series 1."

Joanna rested her chin in her right palm, "Sixty six percent better damage output than the standard suit, and twice the range."

"This is a monster Joanna, look at the foot; boarding spurs on the toes, it can still attempt mech boarding actions."

"Look at the ammo flexi on the PDW…that is not seven point six two, looks more like twelve point seven."

"It is not bulky like the Horses' Gnome armor either."

From behind them, Marx Icaza's perpetually sophisticated voice sounded, "May I ask what you two are gawking at?"

"Relevant to your interests Marx, take a look at this." Joanna grunted.

Icaza took the brief as offered by Gisselle and began pouring over the report, his eyes quickly darting down the page, then turning to the third page. Continuing the read he shook his head, before turning to the fourth page. As he started into the fifth he let out a spheroid oath, a combination of a particularly vile word for coupling being preformed sideways.

Gisselle stared at Marx wide eyed.

"I will take you up on that offer if we get through this alive." Joanna replied flatly.

"I am practicing my swearing. It seems some of the more colorful military commanders in history had a particular flair for it."

Gisselle grabbed another brief and opened it, speed reading through the first several pages.

"What do you think, Marx? Prototype or are these mass produced?" Joanna intoned.

"I certainly hope it is a prototype, an entire star of these could prove…problematic."

Marx sat down, still reading through the brief.

"It is saying here that this design was reported by guards at the Smoke Jaguar genetic repository in Lootera as well. Claims said the raiding party had between fifteen and twenty of them." Marx said in a detached tone as he continued reading.

"Wait, reports from the guards? You mean they were able to escape the attack?" Gisselle sounded surprised.

"No, they were pacified and bound, the report from the Inner Sphere commander at Lootera said there were zero fatalities during the raid." Marx replied, slightly less detached this time.

Joanna's face contorted into an expression of disblief, "What? That cannot be possible, the Jaguars would never leave survivors."

"Well, it says here the raiding party seemed to go out of its way to avoid killing anyone, as if they were trying to prove something."

Gisselle piped up, "Same thing at Bagera during the December sixth raid; six Falcon warriors injured, none killed."

"What does this mean?" Joanna queried, as if perhaps setting the tone for whole conversation.

"Well…" Marx set down the brief, "It is without a doubt a lot easier to just outright kill an enemy than to intentionally inflect a non-fatal injury to incapacitate or physically incapacitate them. I am not sure if they are trying to show us how skilled they are, or if they are trying to avoid bloodshed, but I am sure of this."

"Sure of what?" Joanna said through a grimace.

"When the shooting starts, we may very well be outclassed." Marx replied with an ominously detached tone.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer:

If it doesn't appear in a source book or authorized publication, it's my intellectual property. Everything else belongs to Wizkids and/or Fanpro or contractual agents there-of. © 2001-2009 FanPro, LLC. © 2001-2009 WizKids, Inc.  
MechWarrior, BattleMech, 'Mech and AeroTech are registered trademarks of WizKids, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

All refrences to the Clans, Star League, as Well as specific Historical characters is done under the provision that the author will not profit from their use.

The author has not received fiscal (either monetary or in the form of services) compensation for the creation and publication of this piece. Attempts to solicit the author for rights to the text, characters, or ideas contained here-in will be considered as constituting a breach of the user agreement and will be immediately reported.

* * *

**Battletech: Resistance**

* * *

**Chapter 13**

New Andry

Huntress

Kerensky Cluster

January 9, 3062

0328 GST

______

"How many are left in our sector?"

Ryre turned the torso of his battlearmor to look over at Mechwarrior Preston driving the two and a half ton technical.

"List says three hundred twenty eight." Ryer replied matter-of-factly through the external speakers.

"Stravag!" Miranda swore.

"At least it is something to do, other than raiding the repository that is." Ryre fired back.

"I have something better I could be doing…sleeping." Miranda grumbled.

"Sleep is overrated, it's just down time between doing something constructive." Warrior Markham quipped.

"Oh, so the freebirth actually talks." The sneer was almost audible in Miranda's voice.

Markham was a freeborn technician that had been allowed to test up a week before, currently he was serving as conventional infantry and had been assigned to the 5th SFG as crew for their technicals after New Andry had fallen. It was little more than a glorified incarnation of his previous duties as a member of the technician pool, but now he was manning the 14.5mm Crew Served machine gun on the top of the vehicle rather than just maintaining the vehicle. Garbed as he was, in camouflage fatigues with the heavy ballistic torso armor and helmet and the slung Mauser IIc rifle, he definitely looked a step above his humble origins in the tech caste.

As warriors went, he was still very low on the totem pole, but the fact he had ascended to warrior status was a major coup. He was really little more than a glorified technician, but being put in the line of fire and being able to actually fire back was something few technicians could aspire to. His training had been perfunctory at best, and no one was entirely sure how he would hold up in actual combat, not that their current mission would present him with either. This was the second Freeborn that had been promoted to ranks in the warrior caste so far, and there were currently 51 others in training. Warrior Jefferson in Star Colonel Kotare's cluster had been acquitting himself like a warrior born. His actions at the AO during the diversion for the last repository raid had merited him a citation for valor and intrepidity. Ryre had, at the time, wondering if it made sense to give Warrior Jefferson a mech when there were many recent "sibko" graduates in Psi that had still not been assigned a mech, Jefferson's actions which had quickly circulated around the HQ had quieted that doubt. Galaxy Commander Wirth was definitely taking bold initiatives, and at least a few of the clan's warriors were wondering if was not, perhaps, reaching too far.

Ryre found that he had developed a strange fondness for the freebirth over the past several hours; he was a very business like warrior, observant, he didn't waste time and always stated things in militarily precise manner. Miranda seemed to chafe working with the freeborn warrior, she had initially questioned why Preston had not been assigned to the gun and the driving left to Markham. The fact that Markham had spent the past 11 years maintaining and range testing conventional infantry weapons for the Clan had brought the matter to a close. As it turned out, the fact that Markham was a crack shot who knew all the small arm and crew served weapons systems of Smoke Jaguar intimately had been the deciding factor in him being tapped to test up to warrior status. He was strong as an ox too, a fact that had been established when he humped the massive 14.5mm cannon into the back of the truck and onto the pintle mount without assistance or aid. As for the weapon was antiquated to be certain, but it was reliable and had substantial power, a fact that had endeared it to Psi Galaxy's "anything we can use" TO&E. Prior to the mission, Ryre had observed Markham sitting over the completely broken down weapon, meticulously oiling the parts and using a rasp to de-burr several parts that he viewed as in need of repair. At the time part of him had wondered if the freeborn would be able to reassemble the broken down weapon, but that doubt had once again been silenced. He turned away to attach a power coupling on his armor and when he turned back, he witness Markham shouldering the massive weapon and heading to their technical.

"Somebody has to be the voice of reason." Markham shot back barely a moment later.

Ryre snickered.

"You have got a mouth on you, freebirth." Miranda growled.

"Most humans are born with one." Markham countered.

"You forget your place."

"Bed of a deuce and a half, manning the fourteen five…nope, still pretty sure where I am."

Ryre snickered again.

"I heard a joke yesterday, laughed my head off. A freebirth in the warrior caste…what a joke." Miranda once again made the sneer audible.

There was silence for a moment.

"How many trueborn warriors does it take to screw in a lightbulb?" Markham inquired.

There was silence.

"I do not know, how many?" Ryre asked, breaking the silence.

"Five; one Galaxy Commander to notice the light is out, one Star Colonel to be tasked with replacing it, and three Star Captains to bid furiously for the 'honor' of defeating the burnt out bulb."

Preston chuckled almost in spite of himself.

"How can you tell when a trueborn has something important to say?" Markham fired off again.

"I do not know, how?" Ryre continued to play into the other warrior.

"All the other surats stop hooting." Markham delivered the punch-line flatly.

Ryre snickered a third time.

"What do you call thirty trueborns in a lake?"

"I give up." Ryre once again played to the comedian.

"A gene pool. What do you call an elemental with a sense of humor?"

"I give up." Ryre was chuckling now.

"Canned ham."

"Hey now, play nice!" Ryre protested between chuckles.

Markham grunted, "Alright, that pretty much exhausts my supply of trueborn jokes anyway, sir."

"Priest two five, this is Priest Actual, sitrep, over."

Ryre keyed back, "Priest Actual, we are Oscar Mike, situation normal, over."

"Be advised, Fink one three reported unknown contacts moving along the northern MSR, keep your eyes open, quiaff?"

"Aff, we copy, actual. Two five out." Ryre keyed off the comms and turned back to face the freeborn warrior in the crew served weapon, "Markham, get your NVG's up, we have unknown contacts operating near our AO."

"Affirmative." Markham lowered the night vision optics mounted on his helmet and began scanning the street.

"What is going on?" Miranda demanded.

"Fink one three reported unknown contacts along the northern MSR."

"Casties out looting maybe?" Preston offered.

"Not sure, just keep your eyes open."

The vehicle continued rolling down the street, behind them the remaining three elementals of 2-5 where in another two and a half ton truck along with several technicians who would be compiling census information and planning work orders to address any issues the population might be having. Two trinaries of the 5th SFG were moving through the city in point sized units on security patrol and knocking on doors, trying to account for all the civilians present since the city had changed hands the morning before. Things had been fairly quiet except for a few irate merchants earlier in the day complaining that they were being prevented from doing their jobs.

Galaxy Commander Wirth had tapped the 5th to deal with the pacification and policing action, it had seemed a waste of their talents to Ryre and many of the other elemental, but they weren't about to start questioning orders now, everything Galaxy Commander Wirth had been planning was working, everything was falling into place; if he thought 5th SFG should be doing pacification duty, then there was a good chance that it was exactly what was needed for the situation.

The two vehicle convoy continued its slow roll down the street heading to the next apartment complex they would be inspecting. There were 117 families in the building, probably the lion share of the 328 prospected civilians they needed census statistics on. It would likely take two or three hours to go through every apartment, but after that, they would be free to return to the temporary billets and get some food and much needed rest. Ryre was looking forward to being done, and maybe spending a little time with Ophelia before the next patrol.

"Sir, I think I have movement, at my one o'clock." Markham spoke calmly and flipped the safety catch off the Type 14's butterfly trigger.

Ryre turned to look where Markham had indicated just in time to be blinded by the flash.

Behind them a loud explosion filled the night air. Ryre hadn't even reacted by the time Markham began laying 14.5mm cannon fire on the area he had spotted the contacts. A second flash lit up the street as another rocket shot by and impacted with a building on the driver side of the lead vehicle.

"Stravag! We are getting lit up!" Preston cried as he brought his rifle up and began squeezing off rounds in the direction of Markham's tracers.

Ryre dismounted from the truck, and scanned the intersection 100 meters ahead. A low wall was being torn to shreds by the 14.5mm fire. From around the side of the wall he saw a man-pack rocket tube protrude forth, preparing to let off another shot. Before he could bring his laser to bear, Markham had already shifted his fire to the end and painted the area with 994 grain projectiles. The figure wielding the weapon did something foolish, they stood up to get a clear shot. Ryre couldn't believe what he was seeing, the surprise was compounded when the first round struck and didn't immediately tear the hostile apart.

Markham was apparently undaunted and continued to lay fire into the target. The hostile staggered backwards then finally fell, loosing the rocket high and sending it sailing in an arc, impacting several blocks away. Ryre began bounding down the street towards the wall, not even looking back to see if he had backup, Markham was providing excellent cover fire for the advance. Ryre realized for the first time that the comm. net was lit up like Katyusha on Founding Day. Markham was shouting something, but it was all secondary to the hunter instinct that had taken over. He was going to kill them, all of them, and there was not going to be anything that would stop him.

"Priest, this is Priest two five, we copy, we copy, we have hostile contact, Echo Tangos engaged, over." Miranda said calmly over the din of Markham's 14.5mm fire and Preston's assault rifle.

"Priest two five, Priest actual, do you have a count on tangos, over?"

"Negative, Negative, Priest, we have one tango down, have not determined strength."

"Warrior Preston! Get that other fourteen five up!" Markham shouted.

"Say again Priest two five, did not copy last."

"Negative count on tangos, Priest, one tango down." Miranda shouted over the din of machine gun fire.

Preston sprinted back to the other two and a half ton, climbing into the truck bed he saw the tech contingent were all either dead or injured. The driver, a technician from the motor pool, was dead, most of his upper torso and head were gone. Elemental Sanders was pinned in his seat by the engine block and twisted metal and the remaining two elementals had moved into a rear security position in case they were flanked. Reaching the pintel mounted machine gun, Preston ripped the charging handle back and brought the weapon around to bear on the wall Markham had been laying fire into, letting off controlled bursts. No sooner had he started firing, Markham's gun went quiet. Preston looked over to the other truck and saw the freeborn infantry man rip the empty ammo can from the side of the cannon and grab another to reload. He hadn't even considered that the gun Markham was on would run out of ammo; Markham's order to get back and bring the other gun online and start firing was an order that had probably saved them from a massed rocket attack.

From where Miranda sat in the rear of the technical she heard Markham swearing up a storm working the belt of ammunition into the feed on the 14.5mm cannon. She would have much rather been dismounted and engaging the attackers, but someone had to man the comms and at the moment, she was the only one not completely tied up with fighting off the rocket teams. Markham finished loading the belt and pulled back the charging handle, bellowing another obscenity in the direction of the attackers and laying the fire back into their position.

"Priest, requesting rear security, our flanks are not secure, we have one man down, Whiskey Alpha, possible enemy flanki-"

Miranda was cut off by a heavy strike against her armor from the left. She instinctively turned to see where the shot had come from to see six more targets moving into an opening between two buildings, at least one appeared to have an Anti-Armor missile shouldered.

"Markham! Tangos on your ten o'clock!"

Without a pause the freeborn swung the gun around and lay fire into the targets. They took several hits apiece, the heavy Armor Piercing rounds severing the arm of one and striking the would-be-hunter-killer with the rocket high in the torso. The hostile fell in a heap instantly.

"Come get some you sons of bitches!" Markham howled as he handily dispatched the sextet of flankers then swung the gun around to once again lay fire on the emplaced attackers.

Ryre cleared the wall just in time to see two of the attackers getting a heavy support laser emplaced to open fire. Without a moment's pause he triggered his Series 1 laser, burning a hole through the side of one of the two assailants and striking the laser emplacement. The capacitor bank overloaded and exploded with a loud bang, acrid smoke leaked from the cracked casing in great plumes, filling the small area between the wall and the adjacent building. Before he could swing his 12.7mm anti-personnel machinegun around, one of the attackers swung a chain saw like those used by mech rescue teams at him. Ryre instinctively brought his left arm up to block the blow, the tungsten carbide tipped teeth biting deep in the armor shroud, the electric motor struggling momentarily with the layered armor. Another few seconds and the blade would get enough bite on the armor to dig through, then nothing would stop it from severing his arm. Ryre cocked his right leg back and fired it at the gut of the attacker. The assailant staggered back, dropping the saw in the process. He hit the wall and his feet slid out from under him, as he hit the ground, he reached around his back and began struggling to get his shotgun free. Ryre didn't wait another second, bringing his anti-personnel weapon to bear and emptying a 20 round burst of 647 grain match grade ammunition into the attacker. He didn't even take the moment to ponder why they had not penetrated outright. When the attacker went limp he turned his attention back to the others in the alley. He was staring down the bore of an in-battery rocket launcher, his breath caught. His right arm started its ascent to bring the series 1 laser to bear, it seemed impossibly slow, much like the nightmares he had in crash camp of not being able to move fast enough to get out of the way of a mech's foot coming down. At this range, the rocket had a good chance of fatally injuring him, he knew it, as apparently did the wielder who seemed to place no regard on his continued life if he was at least able to take Ryre with him.

Before the hostile could depress the firing switch his head snapped impossibly hard to the left, before his neck was suddenly shredded to nothing but tattered flesh and shattered fragments of bone. Ryre muscled past the falling corpse seeing another target, crouched low behind the wall, pulling the safety covers off another man portable rocket launcher, on his left side a medium caliber anti-material rifle hung from a sling. These attackers specifically had killing elementals in mind. He turned, apparently alerted just in time by Ryre's heavy foot falls and reached for his rifle, before he could bring it up Ryre loosed a bolt from the right arm mounted laser at the hostile, his head vanished in a puff of burning ash, the heat cauterizing the stump of his neck instantly. The corpse splayed in an impossibly awkward way as all messages from the brain suddenly ceased.

Miranda saw Ryre's advance from just over the reinforced barrier. Markham was laying precision bursts at an anti material rifle peaking around the far left edge of the wall, when Ryre approached and fired a laser burst. The rifle raised suddenly and a hostile sprinted away from the wall, charging at full speed down the street towards the apartment complex. Before he had cleared thirty meters, Markham's 14.5 barked, two quick bursts of five rounds. The first tracer bounced off the hostiles back, the second shot through and skipped down the asphalt road as the target dropped. Markham swung the gun back around towards the wall, the truck shifted as he did, and began scanning the wall line, now occupied by Ryre in the powerful troll armor.

Ryre saw the second hostile at the far end of the wall just as he began to run down the road, he took aim with his left arm mounted 12.7mm gun, but before he could squeeze off a shot, a line of the heavy 14.5mm rounds cut him down. The firing stopped suddenly. There was shouting all around, and groaning. The smell of cordite and burning electrical systems filled Ryre's nose despite the filtration system on the suit. Somewhere nearby a voice was shouting, but Ryre was oblivious. He heard, more than felt the slap on the shoulder of his armor, turning to see Warrior Markham with his Mauser IIc rifle tightly stock-welded to his shoulder.

"Sir, are you alright?"

Ryre felt the adrenaline and fear haze suddenly drain away, "I am alright, what is our situation Markham?"

"The driver of Victor two is dead, sir. Elemental Sanders is pinned in the cab, but otherwise unhurt. Four of the techs were injured sir, we have CASEVAC in route."

"You are uninjured, quiaff?"

"Aff, sir. Good thing I got a good bead on that one, or we might not be having this conversation, sir." Markham gestured towards the nigh decapitated body of the hostile that had brought the rocket to bear on Ryre with his rifle, the live rocket launcher sitting next to the body.

"Ryre, are you alright?" It was Miranda this time, she approached the opposite side of the bullet pitted wall.

"I am fine, thanks in no small part to Markham's shooting." Ryre said flatly, his voice betraying the adrenaline crash.

"Warrior Markham," Miranda began, her voice tinged with grudging admiration, "likely saved all of our lives. If he had not been so quick and accurate on the fourteen five we would have likely taken more rockets or been taken by the flankers."

"Flankers?" Ryre asked, oblivious.

"Six came from our left flank, another rocket team with anti-material rifle support, Markham killed them all." Miranda replied, cocking the thumb on her left manipulator claw in the direction of the trucks.

Markham had already begun conducting an EPW check, policing up the weapons.

The moaning had stopped, signaling the demise of the hostile from whom it was emanating.

"Stravag, battle armor, sir." Markham barked.

"What do you mean?" Miranda snapped.

"They're in battle armor, looks like spheroid make. Light jobs, infiltration models."

"Stravag freebirth cowards!" Miranda spit, then quickly followed up, "Not directed at you, warrior Markham."

Markham grunted, "Thing that bothers me is this laser emplacement," he kicked the damaged weapon array, "This is clan make, ninety nine R HSL. I can count the number of these I've seen on one hand."

Ryre reflexively cocked a brow inside his armor, "I do not think I follow you."

"This ain't Smoke Jaguar T O and E sir, mostly gets emplaced on armor, a cupola mount; which means mostly with the bears and horses, seen a few that were employed by Hellion PGCs, but not really standard issue. I don't think I can reckon how some Spheroids would get their hands on one."

Ryre mentally forced himself to disregard the freeborn's coarse language, instead focusing on the content of the statement. "What are you saying here, Markham?"

"I am not sure there are spheroids at all, sir."

"Jade Falcons, attempting underhanded tactics?" Miranda queried.

Ryre shook his head, the gesture didn't translate to noticeable movement of his battle armor, "I do not think so, this kind of deception does not seem like their style."

Markham began patting down bodies and searching pouches for any intel he could find. It was almost as if he had been doing this sort of thing for years.

"Well, whoever they are, it is not likely they will be telling us anything." Freitag's gruff voice added.

The assembled warriors turned to the approaching commander, his troll class armor seeming even bigger and more imposing than that of similarly equipped Ryre and Miranda.

"Sir!" Ryre leapt to attention.

Miranda followed suit, but Markham continued to scan the area with his NVGs, rifle at the ready.

"Fink observed the fire fight from a klick out, looked like their ass-kick got turned around on them." Freitag spoke gruffly, but his voice hinted at his pride in his soldiers.

"Warrior Markham." The elder elemental barked.

The freeborn turned and stood at attention, "Sir."

"Damn fine job keeping them combat ineffective with the fourteen five, I will be putting you in for a commendation along with warriors Ryre, Miranda, and Preston."

"Sir, thank you sir, but if I may, shouldn't we be sweeping the area?"

"Negative, you are all out on the CASEVAC bird, Vandal's trinary is moving to secure the area." the Star Captain replied, his voice brokering no argument.

As he spoke, two points of elementals from the Priest 2 and Priest 3 stars were moving over the area, securing weapons from the dead.

"We have got four teams of medtechs coming in on the CASEVAC to make sure the civilians are alright, last thing they were probably expecting tonight was a firefight three hundred meters from their homes." Freitag declared, absently.

"I think it was the last thing we were expecting too," Miranda added, "The idea was a show of force with a soft edge for the civilian populace; elementals to remind them that the Jaguars still have teeth, techs to let them know that the fangs are not being bared at them, and instead we end up leveling half a block with cannon fire."

Markham grunted, kicking one of the corpses, "I bet half a month's credit these bastards had sabotage as a primary objective, we could just as easily say we were defending the casties."

"That is a distinct possibility." Ryre replied. "Either way, we made our show of force, and we did not kill a single lower caste member doing it. A follow up morale check from Vandal's warriors will probably help solidify loyalty."

Freitag chuckled, "Ryre, if you keep up like this we are going to have to replace you as the trinary dunce."

"Wait…since when am I the trinary dunce?"

* * *

New Andry

Huntress

Kerensky Cluster

January 9, 3062

0418 GST

______

Markham looked like a warrior born.

Miranda was still on the comms.

Saunders was limping a bit.

Kelden was working a bit too attentively on an injured female tech.

Norman was, like Markham, scanning the area for potential rocket teams.

And Ryre was trying to put it all into perspective. The CASEVAC was 2 minutes out, and that was two minutes for him to think. Ryre thought a lot, more than he would ever let anyone know, they always kind of thought of him as a lovable brute, but it was just the mask he presented; inside he was conflicted and often confused. His Sibko had just entered crash camp when Operation Bulldog had began. Now he was 21 years old, but part of him felt 30. Inside, he still felt the confusion of youth, but he was a hardened warrior and that is what he had to present. The 5th SFG had already established a reputation as the meanest, most elite group of life takers in Psi: the elementals who were not scared of anything, no mission too big, no task too tough for the fighting fifth. Inside, he realized he was still a boy; he was scared to die, he wasn't sure he knew where he fit into the grand scheme of things, and he thought he was in love with Ophelia. All these things that were not what a Clan warrior was supposed to be, yet they were part of what made him, him.

Ryre was too deep in thought to even hear the rotor blades until they were right on top of them; a pair of _Donars_ shot by, moving towards the city then pealing away to start a holding pattern to provide cover for the incoming _Anhurs_ that were acting as the CASEVAC birds.

"Goddam that's a good looking picture, military precision there. Nothin' finer." Markham shouted over the rotor wash.

Markham's post action adrenaline crash was not really a crash at all, but more of a high. He looked so tuned in that he could take a mech single handedly, and at the moment, Ryre was convinced that he would probably have figured out a way to do it.

Norman howled an encouragement over his external speakers, "Warrior Markham, what clan are you, you freebirth piece of trash!"

Markham slapped the clan patch on his right arm three times with his left hand, "Smoke Jaguar till I die!"

The elementals let out a collective bellowing whoop.

The answer as to how he would fare in action had been answered; Markham was a warrior, no debate about it. He had eight confirmed kills, three possibles; a respectable tally for ambush contact. There was no doubt that Markham had turned the tide, turned an ambush into a total loss for the attackers. No one could say one way or another that in the same position another warrior would not have acquitted themselves with the same level of skill, but the fact that in his first action Markham had taken control of the situation and inflicted heavy losses on the enemy was a credit to his warrior spirit.

In the distance, Ryre picked up on the high pitched whine of the _Anhurs'_ turbo fans, the CASEVAC would be their momentarily.

"Get the casualties on the birds first, Markham, you and I provide perimeter, security, quiaff?" Ryre yelled.

"Aff sir!" Markham barked.

Ryre turned his suit to the direction from which the CASEVAC would be coming and spotted the infrared plumes from the engines of the VTOLs as they cleared the tree line. They were a kilometer out; they would be arriving inside the minute. Part of Ryre looked forward to being back home at Psi HQ, but another part of him wanted to see his original mission through. Maybe after the after-action briefing he could catch a technical or bird back out to New Andry. If they could appropriate a technical, he would ask Markham to be the gunner; he felt a strange sense of security with the unaugmented freebirth he could not fully explain. Markham was a morale tool, he was confident but not overstated, it was like there was a shroud of protection around him and those he was with that no violence could penetrate. Freitag spoke of things called angels that his God would send to protect and help those who were faithful to him, Markham, was perhaps, a guardian angel.

The _Anhurs_ came in fast, quickly rotating the wings of the craft from zero to 135 degrees to feather their landing. It was textbook precision; the craft were never stationary in their approach, going from forward acceleration to grounded stop without a moment of hovering. The casualties were loaded in short order onto the rear most _Anhur_ while Miranda, Ryre, Norman, and Markham loaded onto the second. The trio kept their weapons up even while climbing aboard, providing security. The crew chief leaned over to Ryre, slapping his right shoulder plate and shouted, "We good?"

Ryre replied with a thumbs up and the Crew Chief said something into his mic, prompting the pilot to lift the _Anhur_ pilot to lifte the vehicle up and away. Markham, sitting in the door continued to scan the LZ with his rifle.

"Negative contacts." He finally said then lower the rifle from his shoulder, letting the stock rest at his hip.

Ryre and Norman reached up and popped the latches on their face/chest plate and let the armor raise, exposing their chests and faces.

"Warrior Markham," Norman shouted over the engines, "How do you fair with rifles?"

"A whole hell of a lot better than with that Type 14."

Norman looked over at Ryre, "We should requisition him an AMR, he would make a hell of a trinary level sniper."

Ryre rotated at the waist to face the freeborn, "What do you think Markham? Would you like to transfer to the fifth?"

"It would be the hell out of combat unassigned, but that's kind of a tall order, don't you think?" Markham shouted back.

"I am pretty sure that after tonight Star Colonel Bal would not hesitate to put in the transfer approval papers." Ryre offered frankly.

"I can't say I wouldn't like to run with you boys again, You guys have your shit together."

"Good deal, I will talk to the Star Colonel about it."

The remainder of the flight was largely uneventful. At several points Markham had brought his rifle up and scanned the ground they were flying over with his rifle scope, inspecting unusual or suspicious looking objects. Norman had crossed from the bench to sit next to Markham, the two of them taking turns scanning the area underneath. The notoriously warrior-centric Norman seemed to take a shine to the freebirth as well, in a way Markham was an affirmation of the superiority of the warrior caste; being a warrior had allowed him to shine.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer:

If it doesn't appear in a source book or authorized publication, it's my intellectual property. Everything else belongs to Wizkids and/or Fanpro or contractual agents there-of. © 2001-2010 FanPro, LLC. © MechWarrior, BattleMech, 'Mech and AeroTech are registered trademarks of FanPro, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

All refrences to the Clans, Star League, as Well as specific Historical characters is done under the provision that the author will not profit from their use.

The author has not received fiscal (either monetary or in the form of services) compensation for the creation and publication of this piece. Attempts to solicit the author for rights to the text, characters, or ideas contained here-in will be considered as constituting a breach of the user agreement and will be immediately reported.

* * *

**Battletech: Resistance**

* * *

**Chapter 14**

Lootera

Huntress

The Kerensky Cluster

January 17, 3062

0923 GST

It had been a quiet morning, in many ways not to different from a mid spring day on Tukayyid, or early fall on New Avalon. The breeze was brisk coming out of the north west, but not gusty. It was a cloudless day and the sun was already warming things up for a pleasant afternoon. Victor had received notification at 0500 that the Jade Falcon task group's dropships had begun their approach on Huntress, they had broadcast their confirmation codes and begun descent at 0850. Victor found himself nervous, he had fought against some of these warriors on Twycross and he anticipated more than a little bad blood. At the same time, he found himself slightly exhilarated; the opportunity to fight side by side with former enemies always had a mythic quality to it.

This entire operation was already taking on a surreal quality. On their fourth day on planet, the representative from Clan Goliath Scorpion, who had become something of a fifth wheel, strode into a briefing unannounced. Apparently the Goliath Scorpion Khan had deemed fit to send a representative from her clan without consulting either Khan Pryde or the SLDF. Victor, never one for protocol, had found the move none-the-less inappropriate and in poor taste, not that he could blame the warrior in question, he was just following order, but it chafed him anyway. Apparently the warrior had already bloodied the nose of the Jaguars and provided detailed and pertinent information to the commander of the SLDF garrison in Lootera. He struck Victor as odd, disconnected, and with a flair for the anachronistic.

"So, what do you think of this Kirov, character?" Tiaret inquired, looking out at the horizon hoping to catch a glimpse of the Falcon dropships.

Victor shrugged, "I'd hoped you'd be able to give me a bit more input on that."

"The Scorpions were always a strange lot; mystics and treasure hunters is about the most I know, sort of a latter day version of that Indianapolis Johnson character from those ancient vids."

Victor chuckled to himself, just when Tiaret started to seem normal, her clanner came out. "The character was named…never mind, close enough. What was your assessment of him?"

"Dog nuts."

Victor chuckled again, "Is that your official stance?"

"One man to represent his entire clan's interests on the planet? Any warrior with a lick of sense would have fought a trial of refusal against such an order so he could have at least nabbed a trinary." The elemental grumbled, crossing her massive arms. "That falls under the category of 'dog nuts' in my book."

Victor chewed on the assessment mentally for a moment. She did have a point, one warrior could barely be considered more than an attaché.

"You think he is really that good though?"

"If I can get hold of a copy of his codex I will know for sure, but the Goliath Scorpion command certainly had a lot of faith in his abilities. The garrison commander is pretty weirded out by him. He kept going on solo patrols looking for Jaguars to kill, so either he is that good or he has a death wish."

Victor rested his chin in his hand, "If you had told me two years ago that I'd be on Huntress with a mixed inner sphere, clan task group, I would have told you that you were crazy."

"If you had told me two years ago that I would be part of an Inner Sphere task group…I probably would have shot you." Tiaret looked at Victor, giving him a rare smile.

"How things change."

"Shhh, I think I hear something." Tiaret crooked her head upwards, listening.

Victor did the same, hearing the low rumble of powerful retromotors burning hard to slow descent.

"I think they birds are here." Victor commented.

The sound was almost little more than a rifle report as heard from miles away on a cool morning when sounds seemed to travel impossibly far, but always muted and somehow distorted. It seemed to be carried as an echo on the breeze gradually growing into a deeper rumble; no longer subject to the whims of the wind to carry the heralded approach. The sound grew louder and turned from a rumble to the throaty cough of fast burning reaction mass forcing air away at hypersonic speeds. High in the sky, a series of dots, impossible to count due to their small size, appeared. The Falcons had opted for a steep angle of approach, likely to reduce the time they were in aerospace that could possibly be contested. They were coming in like this was a combat drop, for a second Victor honestly felt a knot of doubt in his stomach. If the Falcons were intending hostile action, they would be able to overrun Lootera before an adequate defense could be mounted. Even with two regiments on patrol in and around the city, it would be too easy for them to get cut off from one another by a massed two cluster assault. Victor fought down the feelings, the odds were highly unlikely that the Falcon approach vector was anything other than the commanders taking a judiciously cautious approach to the landing. The cough grew still louder as the dots became circles sitting on top of a burning cloud, smoke trailing up and away as they descended.

"They sure are coming in fast." Victor declared, raising his voice over the growing din.

"Showing off, bunch of strutting birds that they are." Tiaret replied with more than just a bit of ire in her voice.

The cough turned into a roar, the circles becoming spheres and ovoid shapes as the descent continued. The lower the 8 dropships got, the faster they appeared to be going, they were descending at speeds that would have given an Inner Sphere commander fits. Victor found himself holding his breath, not sure if they drop speed could be slowed enough, the ships looked as if they were bound for disaster. Still he watched, unable to look away, and still holding his breath. Suddenly, a loud boom filled the air as the Falcon dropship commander ignited the primary retro motor. The descent was only being controlled with the secondary engines at this point. A column of fire pat forth from the bottom of each of the ships as they slowed to a more manageable speed for the final two kilometers of approach. Massive landing struts seemed to grow spontaneously from the ships as each of the eight trans-atmospheric heavy haulers prepared to land. Moving now at a pace little more than a dozen or so meters per second, the ships prepared for touch down, the wash from the powerful rocket motors sending massive gusts out in every direction. Victor kept eyes on them all the way down, watching as they touched down on the landing field a kilometer away, the bottoms of the massive craft vanishing behind a knoll that sat between where he stood and the military landing field. Within seconds all the ships were obscured from sight by massive rising columns of smoke and steam. Victor's military shortwave crackled to life, "Sir, we have confirmed touchdown, Falcon captains report successful landing."

Victor raised the comm. and replied, "I copy."

As if anticipating his anxiety, Tiaret placed a massive hand on Victor's right shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze, "You will be fine, you have nothing to worry about."

Victor looked up at the warrior and smiled weakly, "Thank you Tiaret."

"Well, Ray is probably already waiting for the ramp to come down, let's get over there before he causes irreparable harm to our foreign relations." Tiaret quipped, walking over to the jeep.

"Yeah, we better be the first ones talking if we want to keep this from going totally SNAFU…you know, on that note, you'd better tie and gag him, Tiaret." Victor joked wryly as he approached the jeep on the heels of the colossal elemental.

Tiaret crowed, "You saw him on the McSweeny, I am not sure if I could."

* * *

Dropship Bernhard von Sachsen-Weimar

Huntress

The Kerensky Cluster

January 17, 3062

1018 GST

"So what do you think, sir, should we just charge the star port now and proceed to annex the city?" Mechwarrior Merrick cracked a devilish grin.

Horse smirked, "Negative on that. Best behavior, quiaff?"

"Aff, sir, whatever you say." The young trueborn clamped his hands behind his back taking a stiff backed at-ease stance.

Horse's Star had formed up at the #2 ingress/egress ramp behind their commander, waiting for the skin of the vessel to significantly cool to allow exit of the dropship. For Horse, the wait was nerve racking. The weeks of travel had built up enough anticipation of what they would encounter on the ground, and having to wait the extra minutes now for something as mundane as allowing the craft to cool down was maddening. He took some solace in the fact he would be stepping off the ramp before Ravill Pryde, a fact that was as much a feather in his cap as a necessity. Pryde could not be allowed to botch matters with his coarse manner and he would do great dishonor to the clan if he treated Victor Steiner-Davion rudely.

The hatch indicator light high and to the right of the ramp still showed red. It almost seemed to stare back at Horse, like a belligerent scowl. Horse could practically hear the light thinking "Its still to hot, if you exit now you are going to flash fry your feet in your boots." He grit his teeth, contemplating ordering a tech to bypass protocol and open the ramp, but deciding that sticking with SOP was preferable. He had to set some sort of example; his unit was already unorthodox enough, he needed to occasionally be a paragon of martial discipline, he just wished it could have been in a less mundane situation.

"Just don't look at it. Watched harjel never sets." he mumbled to himself.

_Misappropriating old Terran expresions? Tsk Tsk._

"I seem to remember you spouting some doozies in your time."

_Doozies?_

"Its another Terran expression, it means..."

_I know what it means, just never thought I would hear someone actually say it._

"I'm feeling anachronistic."

_Well good for you! About time you developed some more personality. By the way, the light is yellow._

Horse looked up, the light was indeed yellow. It flashed three times then went green, the ramp was clear, it could be lowered for egress. Horse looked over to a nearby tech and barked an order, "Get this ramp down." The tech nodded and jogged over to an adjacent console, activating the ramp safety protocols. A computerized voice came over the bay's communication system, "Normalizing bay atmosphere pressure."

Horse's ears popped as the pressure in the bay suddenly changed, the scrubber recycled air suddenly seemed to smell a bit less strongly of dropship environment. A series of loud thumps and a hiss pierced the bay as the sealed environment of the bay allowed the first wisps of Huntress air seep in. An alarm light switched on and once again the speakers in the bay began extolling "Clear the exit line, ramp lowering. Clear the exit line." A thin line of light began forming around the edges of the ramp as it came free of the superstructure preparing to lower. Hot air, smelling of steam, reaction mass, and with a faint note of freshly cut grass flooded in as the ramp continued to lower slowly, allowing more natural light in to the bay.

From behind Horse, Pegeen chirped, "Well, let's go get this over with." She sounded peppy, as usual. Horse grimaced to himself; he had not been looking forward to this, not by any stretch of the imagination. How did a simple old soldier like him greet royalty? Would Davion even want to be greeted as royalty? Too many things to consider at the moment, right now the priority was getting his unit deployed and coming to grips with the situation. The briefs he had read had been startlingly dearth of information, situational awareness on the ground was a definite liability, one he would have to try to remedy quickly since all the intel pointed to them being outnumbered.

The ramp hit the ferrocrete with a loud thump, morning sunlight flooded into the bay illuminating against its beams flotsam and dust floating in the bay air. Horse pondered for a moment if air scrubbers were intended to deal with this kind of airborne detritus and what, if any, negative effects it had on warriors and crew cooped up in such vessels for weeks and months on end. Horse strode to the top of the ramp and looked over to where the Haselrig was lowering its egress ramps a few hundred meters away.

"Well, we made it in one piece, time to get to work." Horse mumbled to himself.

* * *

Psi Galaxy Headquarters

Huntress

The Kerensky Cluster

January 17, 3062

1131 GST

Star Colonel Devin Osis strode into the CIC with a brisk gait, he had received an emergency page not three minutes before, prior to receiving the page he had just completed a fourteen hour patrol of the Psi HQ AO and had been looking forward to some down time. Rubbing his eyes he approached the duty officer, "What have you got for me?"

"Phased Array Radar, sir."

Osis nodded, walking deeper into the dark room to one of the many bays of monitor screens and virtual map plots. At one of the consoles, a tech was pouring over alpha-numeric data scrolling across a view screen. It was all gibberish to Osis, and he found a hint of admiration for the tech who could look at the data and turn it into a real picture of what was going on.

"What do you have to report, Gilbert?"

The tech looked up, his face masked with a thin coat of sweat, beading on his forehead.

"Sir, at 0903 we detected four Overlord class boats just beginning to break atmosphere. They followed a tight path along the meso-stratosphere border for 318 kilometers before starting a fast drop just above Lootera, IFF transponders were detected a 0913 hours and signaled the boats as Jade Falcon, sir."

Osis rubbed his chin. Most of the Star Colonels in Psi held dual posts, as commander of the 31st Dragoon Cluster, he also was in charge of Psi's strategic security command. Several other commanders answered to him in areas regarding Smoke Jaguar security and the defense of Psi Galaxy Headquarters. Four Overlord class ships likely meant two clusters at partial strength.

"You said Lootera, Gilbert. What kind of opposition did they encounter?"

"None, sir. They were broadcasting a beam of neutrality, and Spheroid forces did not attempt a scramble."

Osis furrowed his brow, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin, noting, absent-mindedly, the stubble. "Do we have ID on any of the craft?"

Gilbert rubbed the back of his neck, "We ran the IFFs through our catalogs of known Falcon craft and two of them matched IFFs tied to the Starbird and Raptor, the other two hailed as the Arthur Haselrig and Bernhard von Sachsen-Weimar in the beam of neutrality."

Osis released his chin, screwing his face in an expression that matched his confusion, "Arthur Haselrig? Bernard von...what?"

"Absolutely no record on them in our database, sir. I did some checking, they were European war leaders and nobles durring the post-renaissance era before the Industrial Revolution. They led units of cavalry."

Osis returned his hand to his chin, it was his nervous habit, a "tell" if you could call it that. Since his days in sibko he had tried to break himself of it, but no matter what mental exercise or conditioning he had attempted, in time of confusion, consternation, or worry, he would find his hand going to that comforting and self-assuring place. Many years prior, a scientist in the sub-caste of psychological study and treatment subcaste had informed him it was a primitive defense mechanism. By placing his hand there, he was instinctively protecting his throat. When he had learned this he had found himself angry...because it meant he felt he needed protection...and a warrior defended himself though violence and force of action. He was young then, a warrior without a bloodname, and deluded with a sense of invincibility. As time passed, he had grown to understand that his genes, his prowess as a warrior, and his martial skill could only provide so much protection. His quirk...his need to feel protected was...after all, part of what made him human. Bred in sterile polyethlyne ampoules, grown in a bag...not a vat, which seemed to be the preferred nomenclature, and "hatched" into a world designed to test him from his first breath, he was still a human being. He found solace in this now, knowing that some day, somewhere down the line, no matter what would mark his passing, somewhere...someone would shed a tear for his passing; whether it be his sibkin, trothkin, progeny, or some hopelessly misguided youth who shed tears for all the dead of human conflict without truly understanding why man had always and would always make war.

Osis was snapped from his hubris by Gilberts interrogative, "Sir, should I relay this information to intel?"

"Hmmm? Yes...thank you Gilbert, please relay the information. I will be sure to note your diligence in my report, the additional information regarding Arthur and Bernard could prove of some significance."

Gilbert's expression of analytical concern was momentarily replaced with one of satisfaction and pride in a job well done; the bookish countenance behind heavy rimmed glasses and a pre-maturely receding hairline painted with a thin veneer of confidence and self-assuredness that had turned young unbloods into great warriors.

* * *

Markham felt a firm and overly large hand clap down on the back of his left thigh. In most situations, the sensation would have made him jump, but he knew what was demanded of him immediately. The image in the scope through which he was staring was of a tree, the type he had seen ever since his youth. It was not dissimilar to the images of trees on Terra he had seen during his primary education many years ago, but somewhere in his mind he knew that the Quercus Panthera were not the same as the oaks native to his ancestral homeland. He moved the scope picture up a quarter mil to focus on a limb that seemed to be growing down towards the earth from which its parent had grown. Tightening the stock-weld with his left arm, he took up the slack on the trigger, catching his breath, and applied the pressure with his index finger, intimately knowing what was required to force the trigger break. He was rewarded with the gentle buck of the weapon as hammer struck, firing pen, firing pin hit primer, primer ignited powder, and the bullet broke from the cartridge on the gases produced by the propellant igniting. His left hand was kissed for a moment by the scalding hot brass as the slide shot reward and ejected the spent casing. The round hit the earth with a mildly metallic thud that would have been all but inaudible to those not intimately familiar with the workings of the weapon.

Norman watched the round speed down range, catching the helmet acting as the target dead-center, chewing through first one set of ballistic layers then after the split second of time traveling to the reward layers blowing through them, carried by what seemed a determination not bound to the laws of physics. Having accomplished its goal the 250 grain projectile plowed into the earth, leaving a small geyser of dirt as it reached its final resting place. It lay not 2 meters from its sibling which had caught the target slightly lower and to the right not a moment before.

Norman felt a small chill of excitement, realizing that this had been only the second range shot Markham's rifle had preformed. Both times, the weapon...or rather, the operator, had placed the shots on target. Markham had been given eight shots in which to qualify with the new to the point of still having been in the original plastic weapon. He had achieved the goal on the first shot, and put the pin to the primer in the second. From his position, lying almost intimately close to the freebirth he whispered "Hit, center mass."

Markham responded flatly, but with a strangely gentle edge to his voice, "It would be a shame if I didn't use the other six..."

The rifle again coughed as another shot whistled down range, opening the hole the second shot had created wider. Norman's eyes were rewarded with the sight of the third bullet opening a ghastly opening in the upper back right quadrant of the helmet. Before he even had time to speak the rifle spat again, two seconds later he watched as a spray of fibers at the back of the helmet erupted angrily from the exit "wound."

Norman's radio crackled to life, the voice of Star Captain Kylie from the training cadre, rendered impersonal and less complex by the limitations of technology issued forth, "Warrior Markham, we have four confirmed hits on the target, unless you have a particular animus towards the helmet in question, we have seen enough."

Norman keyed the talk function on the radio link and held it up towards Markham's mouth. "I copy, Ma'am. Never leave anything half done..."

Releasing the "talk" button Norman waited for a reply and was greeted with a understated chuckle, "Well, if that is the case, _warrior_ Markham, let me direction your attention one zero three meters north, north west."

Norman shifted his spotting scope, looking for the target in question. The image shook in the lens as he focused on a dark shapes silhouetted against the growth of shrubs and grass. The sambar came into focus, its head extended high, trying to discern the source of the sound that had shattered the tranquility of the late morning forest.

Norman keyed the comm unit, "We have target in sight."

Markham interjected, "Fancy a bit of wild game, ma'am? The mess hall does get a bit...repetitive."

"You take that buck, and I will personally present my recommendation to Star Colonel Belina Furey and Star Colonel Bal."

Norman watched as Markham shifted his weapon, never taking his eye from the scope.

"One question, ma'am...how clean a kill do you want?" Markham fired back.

"You have four shots in which to do it, and the target is one point three kilometers out, bring it down and I will be satisfied."

"I copy."

Norman eyes the target, it started nervously, but didn't run. Markham's window for the shot was small and closing quickly, Norman would not allow a failing be the result of a failure on his part.

"Wind, northwest, three kph."

Markham shifted, tightening the stock against his shoulder, "Copy that."

"Send it..."

"On the way."

The first shot echoed as the stand of shin-high grass near the rifle's bore recoiled from the muzzle blast, before the first bullet had completed its trip down range, a second shot ringed out shredding more grass that had not given way to the hot gases following the first.

Norman felt his heart catch, and a lump form in his throat as he watched the buck's muscles tighten under the dark brown fur preparing to bolt away. The creature's brain didn't have the time to complete the action as the first round caught it in the neck...somewhere between the eighth and ninth vertebrae...paralyzed for the split second shock of impact, it didn't even have time to experience the involuntary spasm as the last message from it's brain reached the parts of its body that could carry it to safety before the second round struck it squarely between the third and fourth vertebrae...ending all sensation it had in its now effectively dead body.

The sambar collapsed in a nerve-dead heap, never to rise again.

As the shot echoed through the still forests, they two warriors were greeted with the crackle of the radio followed by dead air.

"...Savarshi...Warrior Markham...you do realize that the final test would not have been a final determinant for your requested transfer, quiaff?" Star Captain Kylie either did nothing, or failed miserably to disguise the shock in her voice.

Markham seemed unfazed by either the act he had preformed, or the masked praise he had received, "Aff, Star Captain...but the way I figure...it never hurts to grease a wheel."

The freeborn warrior snapped the safety on his rifle, released the magazine catch, and worked the slide on his rifle, forcing the catch in the magazine well upwards with his right index finger, catching the bold rearward. A strong hand clapped onto his left trapezius, squeezing tightly. He looked right to Elemental Norman, remembering the gesture from scolding from his father many many years ago. Instead of seeing ire, he saw a predatory grin, and eyes wild with warrior spirit.

"Welcome to the fifth SFG, WARRIOR Markham." Norman growled his voice full of clan warrior ethos.


	15. Appendix 1: Custom Mech Specs

Here is the first of the promised Appendicies for the Resistance story line.

Per reader request, I will be outlining the custom mech and vehicle specifications here. I would have set this up like a technical readout but the damn formatting is giving me hell. Enjoy!

* * *

Direwolf "Khudkha"

**Mass:** 99.5 tons

**Chassis:** Modified Coriolis Class VI (Endo Steel, 5 tons)

**Power Plant:** Type 50 Extra Light (400XL, 26.5 tons)

**Cruising Speed:** 43 kph

**Maximum Speed:** 65 kph

**Jump Jets: **Prentiss-IIIA (2 in center torso, 1 in each of the left and right torso)

**Armor:** Type HH34 Ferro Fibrous (307 armor factor, 16 tons)

**Armament:**

6 Series 7Ja Extended Range Lasers (6 ER Medium Lasers, 3 in each arm)

1 Series 3K Extended Range Laser (1 ER Large Laser, left torso)

1 Model SH Ultra-20 Autocannon (1 Ultra 20 Autocannon, right torso [7 tons of ammo in the left torso])

**Manufacturer:** WC Primary Facility #8

**Communications ****System:** Khan Series (Type 2)

**Targeting and ****Tracking System:** Series III OPT


End file.
